


Poisoned Skies

by lovestowrite238



Series: Friendship and Dangerous Skies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Melissa, BAMF Melissa McCall, BAMF Stiles, Bromance, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Derek Hale & Lydia Martin Friendship, Derek Hale & Melissa McCall Friendship, Derek Hale & Scott McCall Friendship, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Bonding, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Good Parent Melissa McCall, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Pack Mom Melissa McCall, Protective Scott, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski & Kira Yukimura Bromance, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 34,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6517693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestowrite238/pseuds/lovestowrite238
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events that happened in Bleeding Skies, Stiles is slowly but surely recovering from his ordeal. Surrounded by his friends and family, he’s recuperating and trying to cope with it. Everyone thinks nothing can go wrong anymore. Until Stiles decides to deal with his fears and proposes to take a flight back home. And then, all hell breaks loose.<br/>Soon enough the pack finds themselves trapped on the flight out with Melissa and the sheriff, with one very sick human who cannot heal himself as he’s slowly being poisoned from the inside out. Add to that some very freaky people, broken toes, a ticking timebomb and a race against time.<br/>Just as its predecessor, this story focuses on Stiles-Whumping, pack friendship, family friendship and care, bromance, with hints of Stydia, Stalia and Sterek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bickering

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the author:
> 
> Poisoned Skies is the sequel to Bleeding Skies, which you can find here. When I wrote the story out of this series, I received a lot of feedback and comments from followers, asking to write a sequel.  
> So I did :) - You can find Bleeding Skies on my profile page.  
> You can read the new story standalone but will miss out what happened before of course and the references that I've put into Poisoned Skies.
> 
> Following the events that happened in Bleeding Skies, Stiles is slowly but surely recovering from his ordeal. Surrounded by his friends and family, he’s recuperating and trying to cope with it. Everyone thinks nothing can go wrong anymore. Until Stiles decides to deal with his fears and proposes to take a flight back home. And then, all hell breaks loose.  
> Soon enough the pack finds themselves trapped on the flight out with Melissa and the sheriff, with one very sick human who cannot heal himself as he’s slowly being poisoned from the inside out. Add to that some very freaky people, broken toes and a race against time.  
> Just as its predecessor, this story focuses on Stiles-Whumping, pack friendship, family friendship and care, bromance, with hints of Stydia, Stalia and Sterek.

**Chapter One: The Bickering**

‘Stiles, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

The teenager looks up startled as he turns into the direction of the barking voice, only to see his dad entering his hospital room with a broad smile on his face. Immediately Stiles relaxes his body, almost sinking through his legs at once, only to be caught by Scott before he falls to the floor.

Gripping his best friend’s lower left arm tightly with his good hand, Stiles sinks back down on the bed and grins gratefully, breathing heavily because of the effort, but extremely happy. Today was a huge step towards recovery and they all know it.

The teenager is finally starting to feel better, eager to escape these four white hospital walls with their ghastly Ikea-framed posters and hospital smell. Even the beautiful gardens linked to the hospital can’t take away the gloomy mood he so links to places like this.

Gripping the side of the bed tight, Stiles catches his breath, looking up proudly at his dad while ignoring the tremor in his legs that tells him he overdid it. He hasn’t stood upright in days and feels weak as a puppy, but he’s adamantly ignoring the signs.

‘I’ll beat you at your daily runs in no time again, pops,’ he grins eagerly. ‘Aren’t you proud of me now?’

His dad walks over to the bed, happily clapping his son on the shoulder, showing his pride on his tired features. The last few days have put a strain on everyone, especially the sheriff, who stood to lose most out of all of this. He still hasn’t been able to deal with it all, adamant to focus on his son’s wellbeing instead of his own fatigue. He’s convinced he’ll get his own at one point, but right now, he refuses to go there.

‘You’re doing absolutely fantastic, Stiles,’ Stilinski confirms. ‘I’m so proud.’ Then he seems to realize that his son is still very ill. ‘Are you sure you’re allowed out of bed this soon? Isn’t is too fast?’

His face changes into that typical worried frown of his, whenever he sees his son involved in something he doesn’t like. ‘You’ve only been in this room for two days and you were in a medical coma before that and – ‘

‘Dad,’ Stiles patiently interrupts his dad. ‘I’m going stir crazy between these four walls, despite the fact that the whole world seems to be sending me flowers these days. What the hell am I supposed to do with all of those?’

Stiles waves at the huge bouquets of flowers people he’s never heard of have been sending him. The hospital staff ran out of vases to put them and now turned to buckets.

‘I don’t like the smell of flowers anyhow, and every single plant in our house hasn’t been watered in years. So how am I supposed to take care of all of these? In fact, do we still have plants around the house, daddy-oh?’

The teenager lifts his face innocently to his dad’s, seeing Stilinski waver between the urge of kicking his son’s ass or grabbing him so tight he’ll stop breathing.

The others just watch them go at his in amusement, not saying a single word as father and son bicker happily as they always do. Scott, as always, feels a tinge of jealousy when he sees them have a go at it, realizing at the same time that he still has a mom and Stiles doesn’t.

‘Smartass,’ Stilinski mutters, in truth terribly glad to hear his very weak son crack jokes again. ‘Your mom was the one with the green fingers. I was the one who accidentally used dishwasher tablets instead of plant growth stuff to take care of those poor plants she always bought to replace the old ones.’

Sitting near the window, the others snort. Stiles stares at his dad and then laughs. ‘You’re underestimating yourself, dad. It wasn’t just the plants you killed, was it? Remember that stray cat?’

‘Oh, let’s not go there, Stiles,’ the sheriff mutters embarrassed. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’

‘Who gives bird food to a cat, dad?’ the teenager grins.

‘I thought it was cat food. It was night, I wasn’t paying attention.’

‘You poisoned that poor animal.’

‘And that’s why we’re never having cats or dogs at the house again.’

‘Not even when I beg for it?’ Stiles grins, ‘after all I’ve gone through? Come on, dad, a cute little puppy – ‘

‘That will be devoured by some sort of weird supernatural creature hiding in Beacon Hills,’ the sheriff retorts. ‘No, thank you.’

Lydia rolls her eyes, while Kira looks up confused from her smartphone and gives an absent smile. Liam, dozing off before, sits up straight as he wipes the drool off the corner of his mouth. Malia just watches the sheriff and her boyfriend, happy with being here, with her friends. Derek left the room earlier, to ‘arrange some things’. And Scott realises once more how lucky they were to be able to witness this moment between Stiles and his overbearing father.

‘I’m sure a puppy could survive Beacon Hills,’ he remarks, earning a warning gaze from the sheriff.

‘Don’t you dare go there, son,’ he glares at Scott.

‘Gotcha, dad,’ Stiles grins happily as he leans back heavily into his pillows.


	2. The Hashtag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for the very nice comments, kudos, following and so on! Very, very much appreciated.
> 
> In this part, I actually added a very little reference to the actor portraying Stiles (we all know who and we all know what this reference means). Call it my little tribute and a 'get well soon'! :)

 

**Chapter Two: The Hashtag**

Over the past four days, the pack has been living in Stiles' hospital room, guarding him so closely the human feels suffocated. But he never complains, knowing the others need this. He probably needs it too.

The newspaper article about the pack's ordeal that night made the pack famous in the local area. Or so they thought.

Nationwide, TV-stations and news channels starting picking up the story too. Some stations managed to get their hands on the recordings made by the rescue team. The fact that a bunch of teenagers had managed to save their friend by shoving a tube in his chest, made them go crazy with excitement.

To Stiles' horror, they picked photos of his limited online profile and posted it all over the place, naming him a walking miracle. The others were named heroes. Lydia was called several times to talk to stations about what she did, but she refused, even though some even offered some decent money for it.

After four days, reporters still keep inquiring at the hospital about Stiles' medical condition. He even was a temporary trend on Twitter, or so a young nurse told him. He had his own hashtag _#SavedStiles_ , something he secretly finds really cool. Other than that, he's quite embarrassed by it all and just wants to return to anonymousness.

Stiles is still amazed at what his friends did for him. He ponders about how they saved his life and never backed down to go the distance for him, whatever obstacle lay in front of them. He knows he would have died without them there. They all did their part to get him out of there alive.

Now, the only thing left, is to get the hell out of here as soon as he can, and for that, he needs support from his old man, who is definitely not eager to let his son go and face the real world that soon again.

'Dad, seriously, I'm doing okay,' Stiles tries to convince his father. 'I'm getting stronger by the minute. You saw I could stand straight, right? That was the first step to health. Look, I've got some colour on my cheeks too. So, when can I leave?'

'I know you're bored, son, but you still need to take your time to heal,' sheriff Stilinski says, seeking out Scott's support to back him up.

'Your dad's right, Stiles,' the Alpha pitches in, understanding the sheriff's fear that Stiles will overdo himself. 'It's only been four days. You can't expect to get up and about that quickly. You went through a lot; your body needs time to heal.'

'I wish I had some wolfish powers right about now,' Stiles mutters, staring at his dad who looks back startled, surprised by Stiles' words. 'That would make things a whole lot easier.'

Scott's eyes stare at him inquisitively, just as surprised as the sheriff.

'Do you want the bite?' he asks quietly. 'You can have it, if you want it.'

Scott's sudden proposal pales the sheriff who doesn't mind having werewolves in his life, but when it's his own son, he's not so sure he could cope with it.

'No, dude. I don't want it and never did,' Stiles smiles back, a reassuring gaze at his dad. 'It was a matter of speaking. It would help to get out of here faster, you know? Besides, if you ever get into whatever supernatural trouble, I'll be there to save all of your asses. You need a plain old human like me to walk through magic corridors, make it past wolfsbane buildings and all that.'

'No doubt,' Scott grins, gently helping his friend to lie more comfortably on the bed. 'But right now, that badass human does need to rest and heal the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, the only thing I can take away, is your pain.' He reaches for Stiles' wrist, offering his help.

'You already did that enough,' Stiles smiles. 'And it was great, but I hardly need pain meds anymore. I'm okay, seriously. And again, seriously speaking, when can I get out of here? If I'm not in pain, I can heal at home too, you know?'

Stiles readjusts the sling that holds his right arm against his chest to elevate the pressure on his once-collapsed lung and hurt chest. 'Do we really have to stay here, dad?'

'That's actually what I came to discuss,' Stilinski says. 'Fortunately you guys still have a week off, so you some extra time to recover before you head back to school. As for you, Stiles, I'm afraid that will take a little while longer in the condition you're in right now. I spoke to your principal and he'll be helping you out.'

'I know, the doctors already told me I would need more time, but they also agreed I could decide for myself when I go back,' Stiles immediately retorts.

'Yes, they told me,' Stilinski says. 'But you are still not fit enough to move yet, Stiles. But – '

'But?' Stiles already knows what's coming.

'But, _I_ should be heading back to Beacon Hills, I'm afraid,' Stilinski continues. 'There's a lot going on at home and we're understaffed as it is. For some reason I keep on losing my deputies, you know?'

The others snort again. 'Red shirts,' Liam mutters under his breath, earning a punch in the ribs from Scott.

'And I'm not the only one who should go back,' the sheriff continues. 'Scott, your mom and Lydia's mom have to head out again too. They offered to take you home with them, if you want to. Kira, Liam and Malia can also catch a ride if they wish to return home. So can Derek for that matter Kira, your mom said you can decide for yourself, as they are still off. We've got two cars.'

Stiles feels a pinch of pain shoot through him, afraid suddenly he'll be left to his own devices, but his dad isn't finished yet. Stilinski looks at his son.

'I spoke to your doctors and they want to keep you two more days to make sure you're recovering well enough to travel back home. They advise against it right now, because it would cost you too much energy and set back your healing process. So I decided to stay behind, with you. I don't want to leave you alone again, especially not in a strange town. I've spoken to the office and they will cover for me. They'll fix it, they always do. I'll sort things out with them later.'

'Dad, it's okay,' Stiles stops his father, knowing he can't be selfish about this.

His dad needs the money he earns with overtime, as they are always on the verge of money problems. The one good thing about this is that the insurance company that insured the plane, offered to cover all expenses for the accident and hospitalization. They didn't dare to do otherwise, as they were upset with the pilot landing when he shouldn't have.

'I'm in good hands here, seriously. You can go back and do your work while I recuperate. It's no big deal, you wouldn't be deserting me. I've got some pretty gorgeous nurses looking after me,' he winks.

'You mean like that 250-pound woman who comes to sponge bathe you ever morning?' Malia blurts out.

'Yeah, thanks for that Malia,' Stiles mutters, watching his dad amusement gaze. 'Anyhow, I'm just saying, you can go and come get me back when I can get out of there, if that makes you feel any better.'

'But you'd be alone, Stiles,' his dad mumbles embarrassed.

'Oh no, I don't think so, dad. I'm pretty certain none of these crazies are willing to leave me alone. Apparently they all seem to think I'll get into trouble inside this hell of a prison, pardon me, _hospital_ room. So they basically spent the last three nights sleeping on chairs.'

'That's right,' Scott agrees, glancing at Lydia. 'We already discussed our options and Lydia and I both decided we will stay here until Stiles is well enough to travel. The others can go home, that we discussed too. We don't all have to be here.'

Lydia stands. 'If Stiles can travel in a couple of days, Scott and I can drive him home, if we manage to get a car here or rent one.'

'I can come back to get all of you,' the sheriff offers. 'I'll borrow a mini-van.'

'We can manage, dad, seriously,' Stiles smiles. 'Nothing can go wrong, I promise. And you don't have to drive because I'm actually debating taking a flight back.'

'What?' The pack and his father stare at him in shock.

Malia moves forward, placing her hand mockingly on his forehead. 'Are you ill again, Stiles?'

He laughs, grabbing her hand tight. 'No, I'm not. And yes, I do mean it. I think it's time to beat this stupid fear of mine. I'm ready to take that dive into the deep without going crazy this time. Besides, it's a short flight, right? Scott looked it up online, it takes about an hour back, just like we did when we came here. I'll survive.'

Stilinski raises an eyebrow. 'Are you sure, son? I really don't mind driving back here to get you all.'

'I'm very sure, dad. It would cost you a day and that's kind of silly, isn't it?'

The sheriff actually looks disappointed at the prospect of not being able to help his son. Stiles knows his dad well.

'But you could do me a favour and come back to fly back out,' Stiles blurts out with trembling voice. 'I am certain I want to fly and get rid of this damned, stupid fear of mine. But, I want you to be there to witness it. And then you can start saving up money to fly to Europe. I'll pitch in, I've got some allowance money saved.'

Lydia feels tears welt in her eyes as she watches Stilinski reach for his son, patting him on the back in a warm embrace. She knows how important his father's approval is for Stiles. The teenager wants his dad to be proud of him after all he's put him through. Before the sheriff was in on the supernatural part of Beacon Hills, he saw his job on the line more than once.

The whole pack also knows that Stiles still carries the nogitsune-burden inside of him too. He'll probably never get rid of that, always remembering what the spirit did to him and the others of Beacon Hills. When he was dying, Stiles mentioned the burden of guilt briefly and they remembered it all.

As the sheriff reluctantly releases his son, tears flow down both faces.

'Deal,' the sheriff speaks hoarsely before Stiles can even reconsider. 'You're a weird kid, Stiles.'

His son grins. 'Brave, but weird, right dad? That's how you like me.'

Lydia stands then, her lips pursed as she gazes from the sheriff to Stiles and back.

'I'm not putting you on a plane, Stiles. Knowing your luck, you'd probably be in a plane crash. Are you sure you want to take that risk?'

'Very sure,' Stiles says with a grin. 'A hundred percent. It's time to move on from my fears, Lydia. Hey, I already nearly died once, so what's a plane ride in comparison to that? And what can go wrong when I have you crazies with me, right? That is, if you're all staying?'

He looks at the group who still stare at him as if he's just lot his marbles. But Stiles wants to do this. Overcoming his fears has always been a big, important part of his life. Yes, he can. Yes, he must do this. He has to beat the challenge.

'Of course we are,' Liam says. 'My stepdad and mom know about it.'

Malia moves forward, grabbing her boyfriend's good hand. 'We won't leave you.'

'Okay then,' Stilinski says reluctantly. 'You win, Stiles. Let's do that. I'll go and talk to Melissa and Nathalie. And I promise that you won't be alone on this flight. I'll arrange it.'

'Can you perhaps ask Melissa to provide a huge stock of Dramamine just in case, Dad?' Stiles grins.

Scott smiles, patting his best friend on the shoulder. As the sheriff leaves the room, Stiles smiles bravely at the others.

'Perfect, now I have something to look forward to.'

'Another barf-session?' Derek asks, standing amused in the doorway.


	3. The Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the nice again comments, kudos and following!   
> As promised, a chapter per day ;)

**Chapter Three: The Offer**

Doctor Wills enters the room with a nurse, examining Stiles as he does twice per day, while the others sit in the corner and quietly wait. Still Lydia, Malia and Scott have the feeling that something will go wrong or might go wrong at any time. Holding their breaths, they listen to the discussion between doctor and patient.

'You're looking much better,' Wills says as he listens to Stiles' chest and tries out the movement of his arm, still causing the teenager some pain. 'You even have a bit of colour back on your face. Did you get out of bed, as we discussed?'

'Yes I did and it went great. I feel dandy, Doc. Any chance of releasing me today? As in, this evening?'

'Fat chance,' the doctor grins, familiar with Stiles' attempts to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. As soon as the teenager was alert, he started pleading to get rid of the tubes running in and outside of his body as soon as possible, feeling especially embarrassment with the ones running down his lower regions. Wills finally took out the chest tube yesterday evening, and this morning, all the rest was removed too.

'As I said to your dad ten minutes ago, you'll need at least two more days of bedrest and a couple of weeks after that to recuperate completely. You can't just prance around acting like nothing happened, Stiles. It doesn't work like that.'

'Damn. Then you'll be hearing more Lady Gaga, I'm afraid, doc. Because I'm going to pester you guys with music until you hate me,' Stiles grins.

'Oh, I can live with that,' Doctor Willis mutters. 'Even though I like _Paparazzi_ better than _Poker Face_.'

Stiles nearly chokes on his medication as he eyes his doctor suspiciously. 'Seriously? You look more an Iron Maiden-type to me, Doc. You're a hidden Grunge fan deep down, aren't you? I'm betting you have a huge collection of old T-shirts in the back of your closet that you reserve for hard rock-festivals, don't you?'

'You'd be surprised what I like, Stiles,' Wills smiles, amused by his patient's humour. 'But unfortunately our mutual love for music will not set you free before it's time to kick you out of here. I can live with Poker Face for the time being, and you'll be spending a lot of time with our physiotherapist in the next few days.'

The others snort as they listen to the conversation, seeing Stiles raise his eyes to the ceiling as he taps his good hand annoyed on his bedsheets. Doctor Wills leaves the group alone, amazed at the closeness of them all. He wishes his son had friends like that.

'So two days then,' Stiles finally gives in as his dad returns with Melissa and Nathalie. 'I can live with that. But you guys should go home, seriously. You've been living in this place since we got here. You have to think about yourself.'

'I actually have that covered.' Derek says. 'If you guys are up for it, my family is still offering their spare bedrooms and pool for our use. They were really generous about it too, felt bad about what happened. What I'm proposing is, that we stay here at Palm Springs for a couple of days, rest up and then fly back together. I'll take care of the tickets and practicalities, even though I'm not so sure about that flight either.'

'Hey, we didn't crash, remember?' Stiles retorts. 'It was that blown to bits' car that put me in here, not the plane. And yes, I'm serious, as long as you get us on a commuter flight and not a small coffin like the one we flew in before.'

'That was actually a million-dollar plane, so I won't be telling my relatives you called it that,' Derek grins.

Stiles shrugs. 'The upholstery really wasn't that great, considering. Did they get the scent of my barf out of that, by the way?'

'I don't want to jinx us,' Derek retorts, his eyes smiling as he watches Stiles straight-faced. 'With your kind of luck these days, we might be heading for a rough ride.'

'We did all survive,' Stiles remarks. 'You guys saved my ass.'

'And you saved ours,' Lydia mentions, rising up from her chair. 'I actually like the pool and the spare bedroom idea. That way we can stay close while Stiles recovers here. Even though I have no idea what happened to the rest of our luggage.'

'That's already at their place, I arranged that too,' Derek says.

'You are the best,' she smiles. 'I have some great new bikinis to try out. Bought them especially. Little ones.'

'That sounds like a plan,' Derek snorts as the others listen speechless. 'Perfect, that's settled then. The pool, it is.'

'I don't have a bikini,' Kira remarks.

'Oh don't worry about it, we're the same size,' Malia replies. 'You can use one of mine. I'm betting you look great in a thong.'

Stiles gazes at Lydia and then at Malia and Kira, imagining the three girls in hot bikinis. He turns a scarlet red, to the amusement of Derek, Liam and Scott. The thought of them walking around in their skimpy outfits while he is here, in this blasted hospitals, depresses him.

'Stiles, don't worry,' Derek says with a pat on his shoulder. 'If you behave nicely and do as the doctor says, we can stay two more days so you can enjoy some R&R too. That is, if your dad agrees with my suggestion.'

Sheriff Stilinski grins as he watches his son fiddle awkwardly with the sheets. 'I totally agree with that.'

'So do we,' Melissa smiles, smiling at Natalie who nods.

'You guys earned it,' she says.

'Good,' Stiles smiles weakly. 'Good, that's arranged then.'

Stilinski watches his son slump back tiredly against the pillows, his body obviously giving the hints Stiles' busy mind won't.

'Come on, you lot,' he says, 'my son needs his rest.'

'I'm okay, dad,' Stiles yawns, eyes drooping already.

'Sure, son. Sure,' Stilinski grins, hugging him gently. 'I'll head out tonight. You just rest now and I'll come to say goodbye before I head home, okay?'

'Thanks, dad.' Stiles smiles, already dozing off before the group leaves the room.

Outside, Stilinski watches the pack as they stand in the corridor, not knowing what to do next. He's not a man of big words and still has trouble coping with what happened to his son. As he eyes them all, he notices how tired they all are.

'Why don't you guy already head out to Derek's family right now,' the sheriff proposes. 'Stiles won't mind and he does need his sleep. You have to take care of yourself too, you know. It's no use waiting here for him to wake up.'

'I don't want to leave him for too long,' Lydia says reluctantly, her eyes fixed on the door of Stiles' hospital room. 'Maybe one of us should stay here to make sure he's okay.'

'Lydia, you guys have been through hell and back, but Stiles is fine,' Stilinski tells her. 'Seriously, none of you have slept properly for days. Take this time to recuperate and take care of yourselves. Stiles is well taken care of, he'll be fine. He's constantly telling you to get some decent rest, you know that. He's stressed out because you guys are sticking around all the time. And I do mean this in the most positive sense. I've got this feeling my son feels a bit cluttered right now. You know he needs some private thoughts too. He hasn't been granted that very much.'

'He's right, Lydia,' Scott says firmly as he eyes his pack, knowing all too well how exhausted everyone is. They haven't been able to sleep properly, and when they do, they dream. Even though none of them tells him so, he knows about the nightmares.

'We do tend to overdo it, don't we? And we do need to take care of ourselves. _I_ need to do that for you all.'

The Alpha takes the lead and turns to Derek. 'How far away do your relatives live?'

'Only about twenty minutes' drive. I rented a van for as long as we're here,' Derek explains. 'We can go there, rest up and grab some dinner, and then come back in a couple of hours to visit Stiles. To be honest I'm sick and tired of this hospital food. I really could use some time off; I hope you take no offense.'

'That sounds good,' Scott says, taking the decision for all of them. 'Let's do that. I wouldn't mind something else for dinner than mashed potatoes either.'

Liam grins. 'A big fat hamburger sounds like heaven right about now.'

'With curly fries?' Kira asks hopefully.

'I think I saw a hamburger joint down the road,' Derek grins.

'Maybe we should smuggle one in for Stiles when we come back,' Malia proposes. 'Do you think they have deer-burgers?'

'Oh dear,' Stilinski mutters, staring at his son's were-coyote girlfriend.

She looks up innocently. 'That was a joke, by the way. Even though apparently there are places that serve kangaroo-burgers these days.'

'Oh,' Stilinski mutters, laughing suddenly as he releases the tension from his body. Then he shoos the pack out of the building, telling them to go and have a great time.

On the parking lot, a comfortable mini-van waits for them. As Derek unlocks it, Lydia looks up at the exact window behind which Stiles is asleep and wavers. She doesn't really want to get in, not like this. But she doesn't know how to explain this to the others. Something's off. Something's wrong with Stiles. But everyone keeps on telling her there's not. He's doing fine, he's doing better than okay, considering the circumstances. There's no reason not to leave him behind.

'What is it?' Malia asks, gripping her best friend's wrist. 'What do you feel?'

'Nothing,' Lydia says, shaking her head as the dread leaves her system straight away, as if nothing happened. 'It's okay, it's gone.'

Relieved, the pack gets in and relaxes as Derek expertly brings them to the outskirts of Palm Springs, where a pool awaits.


	4. The Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, following and comments! Hope you enjoy this chapter ;)

**Chapter Four: The Pool**

'Oh god, this is heaven,' Stiles mutters as he lies down on a comfortable sunbed with his eyes closed. Only an hour ago he was taken here, surrounded by the pack and Derek, who has taken it upon him to take care of the practicalities.

The first thing they did, was practically force-feed him yet another burger, telling him he urgently needed to fatten up. He did lose some weight over the past couple of days, feeling his jeans slide down his waist as he was helped by Scott. He couldn't dress himself yet, as the sling was still a forced part of his recovery. His arm rested tightly against his chest and had to stay there at a certain height to make sure the pressure on the recuperating lung remained as light as possible.

Stiles isn't the type to walk around pools dressed in only a speedo, so he decided to go with T-shirt and swimming boxers instead. He's not allowed to go into the pool anyhow, as his wounds are still healing and he can't use his arm yet. He can't shower either and had a nurse wash his hair before he left the hospital. He feels frustrated for being so helpless, working on his routine to go to the bathroom by himself at least. He would be so embarrassed had that not been the case.

The wound on his chest itches, but apart from that, he's relatively happy, watching Lydia, Kira and Malia swim and sunbathe in beautiful, tiny bikinis. He's having a hard time hiding his excitement, so to speak. Scott and Liam are in the pool with the girls, enjoying a well-deserved break.

The first thing Stiles noticed as he was released, was that the others looked pretty good. They sleep better, feeling more relaxed and are able to leave it all behind.

Derek snorts as he moves on the sunbed next to him, rolling onto his side as he eyes Stiles.

'Stiles, seriously, you should be ashamed of yourself.' He points at the teenager's groin area with a smile on his face, knowing exactly what is going through Stiles' mind as he watches his gorgeous girlfriend and the just as gorgeous others that are part of the pack.

Embarrassed, Stiles moves his towel onto his abdomen, wanting to throttle the older wolf for pointing out his embarrassing situation.

'Seriously dude, after I nearly died because of you, are you really going to keep on pestering me? I thought you had learned your lesson by now,' he mutters.

'Seriously kid, how long are you going to play this guilt card on me?' Derek retorts, returning to his position to get the best suntan possible.

Stiles looks aside, admiring the older wolf's perfect body for a moment, before realizing that he's doing just that.

'Seriously, why are you still tanning? You already look perfect,' he mutters, staring at his own pale legs.

'Was that a come-on, Stiles?' Derek smiles, eyes shut.

'Never. Not with you.'

'You sure about that?' Derek opens one eye-lid, only to snort a second time as Stiles flushes again.

'That's why I hate swimming pools,' Stiles says, raising up gingerly to sit in a better position. 'People flirt when they're not supposed to be flirting. I'm still a healing patient, you know? Keep that in mind next time you start teasing me. I can't defend myself properly.'

'You have the wittiest tongue I know. Of course you can,' Derek remarks.

'Stop teasing me, dude!' Stiles exclaims.

'You know what they say about teasing.' Derek's evil grin plays on the corners of his mouth as he stands up and dives into the pool, before the teenager can return a snarky answer.

Stiles sits on the side of his sunbed, holding his aching arm against his chest while he watches all of them swim and play water games. Suddenly he feels weary, abandoned, alone and in too much pain. He's out of place between the lot of them. They look like regular, happy kids, enjoying life itself. And he's physically and mentally damaged. He hates this.

Today has been a very strange day, with loads of memories he has trouble cataloguing. It's been exactly a week since the accident. Tonight, one week ago, all of this took place and he is thrown abruptly down memory lane. He feels as if he's trapped between happiness and gratitude of being alive, and having difficulty accepting that he nearly died.

And this bloody shoulder aches like hell, just like his neck does, from carrying the weight of the sling. Stiles gingerly takes it off, releasing his arm that aches terrible due to the strain it's under. Flexing his fingers, it only seems to get worse.

His chest has been hurting since it happened. Instead of the horrible, harsh pain he felt when it happened, it's now a dull, constant ache that he can't seem to get rid of. He's been taken painkillers but they only take the edge of. He tested them out at the hospital, not telling anyone about this. Doctor Wills said that this sensation is pretty common after the blow to his chest. His lungs often feel as if they're burning from the inside out. The scar aches horrible. And he just feels off. He doesn't have a fever, he knows. This is just the healing process he has to go through to, the one that reminds him he nearly died.

He feels depressed.

At the hospital, a psychologist came to talk to him, warning him about this.

'You'll be feeling a bit down because of the anaesthesia, surgery and all that happened on that plane,' she explained. 'Your body went through a lot and your mind is still trying to cope with it all. What happened to you, was pretty intense and hard to deal with. Don't be surprised if you have feelings of doubt and guilt at one point. You'll be wondering about it for long, dreaming about it too. And then your mind will find a way to catalogue it.'

He had waved it off, telling her he was perfectly fine. They had dealt with worse in Beacon Hills, for sure. But still, he found himself dwelling on the plane and its events leading to his near-death. He remembered every single moment of it, every sense of pain, every detail of every ordeal he went through. He has a brilliant, near-eidetic memory that doesn't help much right now. He remembers too much. He always does.

Even when he was at the ICU, he remembered and heard more than he let on afterwards. He faded in and out of consciousness all the time, slumbering between coma and reality, in an in-between universe where he couldn't reach anyone.

Stiles heard people talk to him, telling him he would be fine, that he was taken care of. They spoke about him in the room, explaining his medical condition in detail because they thought he was unconscious. He heard fragments of it. The medical speech he couldn't recall, but he knew it was serious. He had the worst form of pneumothorax one could have.

_'_ _It's very serious.'_

_'_ _We don't know how he'll pull through. What the complications could be.'_

_'_ _He went through a lot. He needs more time.'_

But most of all he kept on hearing it over and over again. Nurses and doctors who spoke about him, discussing what happened to him.

_'_ _Those kids saved his life. What that girl did, was amazing. She was brilliant. She pushed a tube in his lung to release the air, just like that. Without her, he would be dead.'_

Stiles doesn't know how to deal with his feelings of guilt towards his friends. Because he does feel guilty. He's the one who put them through. He knows what his dad said, that he had gotten too close to the car. He had brought this onto himself. He had taken too many risks, and he knew it the moment he felt the car was going to explode.

The others might have decided to land; he had been the one deciding to investigate in the end, like he always does. He can't help but do this, because it's in his blood. Someday, this might end up costing his life. And yet, he will never back down. He will never stop himself.

'Stiles, stop thinking so much,' Malia yells at him, splattering water over his legs.

He looks up startled, his face distraught. They seem to know exactly what is going through his mind, as they stop playing in the pool and watch him intently. Stiles quickly stands on shaking legs, dizzy for a second, before he turns his back on them. He carefully slides the window open, leaving them behind. Immediately they exit the pool and head out after him.

In the living room the pack finds Stiles standing shaking as he leans against a table, his shoulders sagging as he cries quietly. They're quiet, each and every one of them, staring at him in shock.

'Stiles, what is it?' Scott asks carefully, moving in first. The doctors had warned them about this too. They knew he still had to cope with what happened to him. This isn't the type of thing you could do and move on from.

'Stiles, talk to us,' Lydia speaks hoarsely. 'We're all here for you.'

The teenagers surround him as a group, as a warm blanket that won't let go. Derek stands at a distance, watching them all, feeling out of place as he's the odd one out and doesn't have the same bond with Stiles as the others have.

Stiles just shakes his head as his closed eyes shed more tears. And then they hug him in group, moving forward together. Stiles feels their warmth, their love and their care, and realizes that he's not alone with his grief. He'll never be.

'It's okay,' he hears Lydia sooth.

'You'll be fine,' Scott whispers.

'You're doing so good,' Malia speaks, her hand in his.

'Hey man,' Liam pats him on the shoulder.

'You're okay.' Kira hugs him.

As they let go, Derek still watches them from a distance, not knowing what to say. Stiles smiles through his tears as he realizes the others were still soaking wet while they hugged him. A trail of water left on the floor makes him smile.

'Good thing it's hot enough to dry that water up in ten seconds, right?' Derek says. 'I don't know about you guys, but I hate cleaning up on vacation.'

Stiles bursts into laughter. 'I'm not cleaning that up with one arm anyhow. Besides, I'm not supposed to go near water, remember?'

'We thought we'd bring the pool to you,' Liam retorts dryly. 'At least now you got a little bit wet. Perhaps we should find a way to get you in the pool.'

'Nice try, but I'll just have to stick to peddling my feet in the water,' Stiles mutters, wiping the tears off his face.

'Actually, I have an idea,' Derek smiles. 'Come on, skinny, defenceless Stiles.'

Somehow, the guys manage to get the teenager on top of a floating bed while he cries out about flipping over and tumbling into the water. In group, they keep him upright as they move him over the water, holding onto the bed so he won't fall in.

Then the girls move into the water too and pull the bed back and forth while Stiles splatters them all with his good left hand, knowing they can't return the favour. Laughter fills the terrace and the garden, as the sun sets on them.

'I love you guys,' Stiles says.

'We love you too, crazy human,' Scott retorts. 'Now, let's go grab some dinner.'


	5. The Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much again for the wonderful reactions, kudos and comments again!  
> I'm really honored and flattered.

**Chapter Five: The Hair**

'How's it going?' Lydia asks as she enters the guest bedroom Stiles and Scott share.

'Perfect,' Stiles mutters, cursing for the thousandth time as he tries to close his small bag with one hand, while shoving his wrinkled clothes in at the same time.

'I don't know how one-armed people do it. I think I have found a newfound respect for disabled people. God, this is so frustrating.'

'Be patient, Stiles. Doctor Wills said the sling can go off in a few days.'

'Yeah, and then the fun starts,' he mutters. 'Intense physiotherapy, three times a week to get back to normal movement of shoulder and arm and full use of the lungs. I hate this, seriously.'

'It could have been much worse and you know it,' Lydia reprimands him, trying to get him off his feeling-sorry-for-himself mood. 'You were lucky enough to survive that blast. In a couple of months, things will be back to normal. Don't worry about it.'

'Months? Seriously Lydia? That'll give me plenty of time to learn how to write with my left hand then.'

'Or I can copy my notes and hand them out to you,' she grins evilly.

'That sounds even better,' he grins back.

'So, how are you doing?'

'If you push that damned T-shirt in, I can close the zipper –'

'I didn't mean that, Stiles.'

He looks up. 'Oh. Well, that other thing is doing okay too.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yep. I'm starting to dream less about it. That's a good sign, isn't it?' he says without looking at her.

'You know that dreams are a way of coping with something harsh in reality?' she remarks. 'It's a good thing to dream sometimes.'

'Even if you die in them?'

She holds her breath. 'Seriously?'

'Yep. I often feel I'm being choked.' He quickly gazes at the open door, lowering his voice. 'Don't tell the others, please. It's just weird sometimes. I'm on that plane and then I start suffocating. I guess my mind warns me about what would have happened to me if you hadn't been there. I was so lucky to have you there, Lydia, seriously.'

'I won't tell anyone, you know that.' Lydia moves forward, taking his shaking left hand in hers. 'Stiles, you have to let it go. It's over, we're all fine and nothing happened. Well, except for the fact you have a few extra scars on your chest.'

'I don't care about scars.'

'I do,' she smiles, pecking him on the cheek. 'Stiles, you should stop building up stress inside of you. You have us, remember? You can talk to all of us.'

'You already have your own memories and problems to cope with.'

'We are doing fine, okay?' she reminds him. 'We're all doing great. So stop fretting about us and concentrate on getting ready. We'll eat something at the airport before we fly out.'

'Food?' Stiles looks up. 'Who's thinking about food right now? Need I remind you that I vomit when I get on a plane?'

'Food actually helps settle down your stomach,' Lydia points out. 'With something inside of you, you'll feel much better.'

'Something inside of me?' Stiles raises an eyebrow. 'You make it sound pretty sexual if you say it like that.'

Lydia punches him. 'Stiles, seriously. I can still kick you on your left side, sling or not.'

He grins. 'That's my Lydia. Finally she stops tiptoeing around me.'

'Have I been doing that?' she asks surprised.

'Oh yeah.' Stiles sinks down on the bed, forgetting all about the packing as he looks outside and takes in the sun. This place is pretty amazing, but he'll be glad to be home, in his own bedroom in good old Beacon Hills. 'Everyone has, for that matter. You have to stop doing that. I'm not made of china, you know.'

'It's because we all still feel guilty as hell.'

'For saving my life?' Stiles snorts.

'For endangering it in the first place.'

'No, you're afraid because I'm a regular freaking human and you're all thinking I'll break one day,' Stiles remarks, making Lydia flush.

'Perhaps,' she replies quietly.

'Lydia, despite your Banshee powers, you are a freaking human too. You were in the hospital too. You were concussed and hurt. I don't see anyone tiptoeing around you,' Stiles tells her almost accusingly.

'I know,' she quips. 'Good thing too. I kind of tend to forget them that so they won't fuss so much.'

Stiles laughs. 'You have it all figured out, haven't you?'

'Oh yeah.'

Stiles smiles. 'Isn't it crazy that we all care so much about each other? I never thought friendship could be like this.'

'I know,' she replies with a smile. 'But it's a good thing, no?'

'And to think that a couple of years ago you had no idea who I was,' he grins goofily. 'Must have been the hair.'

'Yeah well, I never liked buzz cuts,' she retorts, sticking out her tongue as she rolls her eyes. Malia enters the room, staring at the two of them in shock.

'Stiles had a _buzz cut_?'

'Oh yeah,' Lydia grins. 'It was horrible. Made him look fourteen.'

'I _was_ fourteen.'

'So who did the shaving?'

'I did it myself,' Stiles mumbles. 'I mean, it's not that hard.'

'Oh god, that explains it.' Lydia rolls her eyes. 'And you still cut your own hair now, don't you?'

'Yep.'

'Actually, I do it too, now and then,' Malia grins. 'He has a great hair. I love sliding my fingers through it.'

'Seriously, the two of you!' Lydia raises her hands and leaves the room, closing the door behind her as she takes off laughing.

Malia places her arms around Stiles' chest and holds him tight, making sure she doesn't hurt the damaged and bruised area. As their lips touch gently, she smiles. 'I love you.'

Startled he looks her in the eye. It's the first time she speaks these heavy words. He knows she means it. What happened to him out there on that plane, made her see life in a different way.

'I love you too,' he replies, and he means it too.

Malia closes up the small bag and takes it as they exit the room. In the living room everyone gathers with their luggage.

'Are you guys all ready to go?' Derek asks after they say their grateful goodbyes to his generous relatives.

Then they head out in the heat and fill the mini-van with luggage. Once they're all seated, Derek moves in behind the steering wheel and starts the vehicle.

'Stiles, your dad is meeting us with Melissa at the airport. I still can't believe they took a flight here to fly directly back, but hey, the guy is obviously just as crazy as you are,' Derek remarks dryly. 'But anyhow, the tickets are booked and in my pocket, so basically the lot of us are going to be filling out that tiny commuter flight all by ourselves. I'm betting you, you'll get free seating and loads of flight attendants' attention.'

'My mom's crazy too,' Scott mutters.

'I think she was forced by my dad to drug me in case I freak out,' Stiles snorts. 'Besides, where do you think I get it from? He was adamant about it too, refused to let me fly back on my own. I guess he still doesn't grasp the whole supernatural thing, you know? The fact that you guys can just knock me over the head gently and be done with it?'

'Don't temp me,' Derek mutters, causing Stiles to laugh out loud.

The teenager punches Lydia in the side. 'I'm guessing the tiptoeing is just about ending,' he grins happily.


	6. The Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we go on ;)

**Chapter Six: The Sushi**

'Stiles, seriously, what the hell are you eating?'

Surprised Stiles turns to find Kira staring at him in shock. His fingers are still holding onto a piece of sushi he's planning to eat, now hovering between his hand and his mouth. Standing at the small food court, the others look up too from their food and eye Stiles' choice of food suspiciously.

'Sushi,' he mutters. 'A maki, or whatever the hell you call this. Your mom taught me all about Sushi, remember? I like it.'

'That's not sushi, it's sashimi,' Kira corrects, grasping the plastic cup he's been feeding himself of clumsily with one hand. 'My god, these things smell vile. It's not even real, original Japanese food. This is an artificial fabrication and a mixture of whatever you Americans think Sushi is. You see that woman in the kitchen? She's Mexican.'

'It's still raw fish, isn't it?' Stiles asks suspiciously, staring at the plastic plate filled with small pieces of food he picked out at a stall because it was easiest to eat. The others were ravaging all sorts of food, stuffing it into their mouths with both hands quickly while they waited for their plane to be prepped.

Kira wipes her hands off, as if disgusted. 'Is that Fugu you're eating?'

'I don't know. I'm eating whatever is in it,' Stiles mutters, shoving another piece into his mouth.

'Throw it away, Stiles,' Kira orders. 'It's a disgrace for my heritage.'

'Sorry,' Stiles mutters while Scott watches the discussion amused, munching down another sliced part. 'It's not that bad, really. I think it's the seaweed you're smelling. Besides, what are you eating?'

'A hamburger, Stiles. Real American food,' Kira smiles.

'Yeah well, you have two hands,' Stiles mutters. 'Just like the rest of you.'

Angrily he finishes the small plate and throws it away, wiping the grease on his one good hand on his pants.

'We only had a little bit of time left before we have to board the plane, remember?' he explains. 'I just grabbed whatever was easy to eat with one hand. It's not like you guys had a lot of time to force feed me, now did you?'

Stiles' voice sounds almost accusing, to the amusement of Lydia who gazes at him as she munches on her big fat juicy burger.

'Sashimi that smells like feet is a lousy choice, Stiles,' Derek remarks. 'You could have eaten a burger or something. Or fries.'

'And upset my stomach that hasn't been fed properly in days,' Stiles mutters. 'Should I remind you all I was sick the entire week? Rice and fish isn't that bad. It's actually quite healthy.'

'But this type of Sushi is just as bad as fries,' Kira said.

'And that's real handy with one hand,' Stiles mutters. 'Perhaps I should have gone to that lousy bread bar and eat a stale croissant that has been lingering about for days, like Malia. I'm betting I'll be smelling that on her breath for quite some time. Or the takeaway Mexican that smells like two cows took a dump, like Liam is eating.'

'Thank you for that,' the younger wolf mutters, staring at his food before throwing the rest away.

'Or that horrible choice of fries that are so riddled with grease you'll have the pleasure of visiting the insides of a toilet for the next – '

'Enough, Stiles,' Scott smiles, stopping his friend in the middle of his nervous retort, knowing all too well Stiles is mouthing off out of pure stress.

Embarrassed, Kira doesn't say a single word anymore as she leans into Scott, remembering how off Stiles has felt for the entire week. On the second day out of the hospital, he had come down with a stomach ache that was so bad they actually debated bringing him back in. He couldn't hold down a single piece of bread, meat or vegetable, in the end living for three days off toast and tea. Finally, as he started to feel better, they were packing in to head home.

Scott hadn't told his best friend but the group had been really worried, constantly monitoring Stiles as he seemed to grow thinner by the hour, sleeping so much they were afraid he would never wake up again. Every hour or so, someone walked into his room with an excuse to find out if he was still breathing.

'I don't know about you, but I'm constantly afraid of losing him,' Malia had confessed one night, leaning into Scott as they sat outside watching a crescent moon. Stiles was upstairs asleep, as were the others.

'I know,' Scott had replied. 'I feel the same. And I don't know why. I think it's PTSS.'

'I don't want to lose him, Scott. I don't know what to do without him. He's everything I've got. He gets me, you know? My dad – my adoptive dad – doesn't get me at all. He's afraid of me.'

'I know,' Scott had replied, knowing all too well how Malia felt. 'I'm sorry, Malia.'

'Just protect him, Scott. No matter what you have to do, keep him safe,' she pleaded. 'He's human, I can't stand it when he gets hurt. He needs us, even if he doesn't understand that himself.'

'I will,' Scott swore.

Now, as Stiles stands by them, twitching nervously before they have to get on that plane, Scott can't help but feel as if he's not doing enough to protect him. He knows that Stiles is going stir crazy waiting for the plane and he's also pretty sure that the hour in the skies will feel like forever.

'I'm just saying,' Stiles begins again. 'Sushi's okay, it's just rice and fish and – '

'God, Stiles,' Derek reacts bluntly, stopping him. 'You are definitely back as you were. Should we be happy now or hope something else will happen to you?'

'Stiles always rambles when he's nervous,' sheriff Stilinski intervenes suddenly, catching up on them as he hurries through the airport towards them, followed immediately by Melissa, who volunteered to fly out with her friend.

Stilinski eyes his son cautiously, embracing him gently when he sees his very thin son before him, looking as pale as ever. Scott told him about the stomach problems, as they tried to figure out why Stiles was feeling so off.

'It's probably nerves,' the sheriff had said. 'Stiles tends to do that, remember that one time you offered him to ride your bike and he spent three nights fretting over it? You can't imagine the amount of times I found him heaving over the toilet bowl with nothing coming out. He's like that, one big pile of nerves.'

'I know, but isn't there anything we can do?'

'No, just sit back and let him do it. He's going to be fine, Scott. He's resilient and always fights back.'

This time though, Stilinski feels it might take a while longer for his son to recover from the ordeal he went through. He's different somehow, _off_ , as Lydia would say. Nervously he tries to pluck the skin off his useless hand as he stares through the large windows, ogling the planes. The sheriff knows he has to get his son's mind off things.

'You look great, Stiles. How's the chest, the arm? Are you still in pain? You're okay with flying? I can still rent a car, you know. We don't have to do this. I don't mind the drive – '

'The rambling runs in the family too,' Melissa remarks dryly as she enters the circle of friends, before she leans forward to hug Stiles and then her son. Her medical experienced eyes also stare at Stiles' pale features, trying to figure out how he's doing.

'So it seems,' Derek retorts with a grin as he shakes hands with the sheriff and pats his shoulder in a friendly gesture. The two have bonded a long time ago over Stiles' welfare, trying together to figure out what was taking over the sheriff's son. Derek realizes he's genuinely happy seeing him, which feels good.

The sheriff glances at the huge clock hanging in the middle of the large hall.

'Our flight leaves in about half an hour, boarding will be starting pretty soon. So basically we're flying out to Los Angeles and drive back to Beacon Hills. We've got two cars waiting at the airport. The flight will take about an hour.'

Derek gazes at Stiles, who wiggles uncomfortably from one foot to another.

'You okay there, Stiles?'

'Dandy,' he mutters, before excusing himself to head out to the toilets.

'You want someone to come with you?' his dad calls after him.

'No, I can redo my own fly,' Stiles retorts without looking over his shoulder. 'I practised.'

As he marches off to the toilets, Stiles is fully aware of the gazes of the others piercing in his back. He has to get away from them for just one moment, feeling so suffocated he literally feels choked.

As soon as he's out of sight, the others look worriedly at each other.

'He's paler and thinner than ever,' Melissa states.

'I know,' Scott replies. 'There's something wrong.'

'Is he coping?' Stilinski asks troubled.

'Barely,' Lydia admits. 'He has a lot of dreams and is trying to deal with it, but it's not as fast as I thought. This whole ordeal left a big impression on him. I think he's just starting to realize right now that he was at death's dorm.'

'But he's fine now though, right?' Kira asks. 'The doctors said he would heal fully.'

'It's not the body, it's the head that's not in line,' Derek mutters. 'I've seen this before. It's like he's reliving the whole thing over and over again without even thinking about it. It's like his mind is forcing him to realize what he went through. When he can deal with that, he'll be fine.'

'And what if he can't?' Stilinski asks troubled.

'Then you're in for a rough ride,' Derek confesses. 'It's pretty hard, but compare it with victims of war. Stiles' body has gone through quite a shock and his mind didn't have time to deal with it back then.'

Stilinski sighs troubled. 'I wish I could do something. I never should have left him alone.'

'It wouldn't have made any difference,' Melissa says quickly. 'I see this all the time. He needs to find a way to compartment this inside his brain. I know some good people at home who specialize in trauma like this.'

'But first we need to get him home,' Malia says, her dark eyes speaking of her worries as she looks at Liam. The younger wolf nods, knowing there isn't much he can do, except talk to Stiles and help him through it.

'He'll be fine,' Lydia says quietly, but her tone of voice speaks differently. It will be a long time before Stiles will be his old self again.


	7. The Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you!

**Chapter Seven: The Kid**

Nervously Stiles rushes to the public restrooms and chooses a clean cubicle in the back of the room. There he sinks down fully dressed on the toilet seat, trying to quieten his nerves.

This was a bad plan and he knows it. He should have insisted on driving back, just like he had vowed to do when they headed out to Palm Springs. But he knew that the drive back would take up to four hours and part of it would have to be through the desert.

If there was one thing Stiles hated more than a plane right now, it was the idea of driving through sandy hills, remembering every single moment of what happened that night. He doesn't want to deal with deserts for the time being. Perhaps, not ever again, he still has to deal with.

'Get a grip, Stiles,' he mutters, wiping the sweat off this brow as he reprimands himself. He doesn't want to deal with an anxiety attack right now. He refuses. He can't and he won't go there. 'You can do it. It's just a stupid plane, nothing will happen. Just get the hell on it and pretend you're sitting in a car.'

Slowly he regains his control as his breath returns. He smiles, proud of himself that he can still deal with his anxieties without the help of someone else. He moves, stands, unzips his fly, pees, struggles to get his trousers back up and zipped and exits the cubicle to wash his used hand.

A kid next to him standing at the row of white china sinks, splashes water all over the floor as he tries to stand on his toes and reach for the tap to shut it down. He's barely nine years old and of small stature, making it harder for him.

'Here, let me help you,' Stiles says as he leans forward to shut down the tap with his good hand. The kid eyes him curiously, staring at his sling. 'There you go.'

'Are you hurt?'

'Yep.'

'What happened?'

'Oh, I had an accident,' Stiles says. 'Nothing serious, I'm fine.'

'You don't look fine.'

'I don't?' Stiles retorts with a smile as he leans forward. 'How come?'

'You look like you're going to throw up.'

'That's because I don't like planes.'

'Why don't you like planes?'

'I don't know,' Stiles shrugs. 'Plenty of people don't.'

'Then why are you here to go on a plane?'

Stiles laughs. 'You ask a lot of questions, kid. I don't know, really. Because I've learned not to let fear take over my life. I refuse to be the victim of my fears.'

The kid ponders about that. 'That's good.'

'Yeah, I guess it is,' Stiles smiles, feeling a bit better about himself as he realizes he means what he says. He's here because he doesn't want to be afraid anymore. That's a good thing, right?

'You're brave.'

'Thanks. What about you, are you afraid on planes?' Stiles asks with a smile.

'No, I'm flying all the time. My parents are divorced and I go back and forth all the time.'

'So do you have a little trick for me?' Stiles asks curiously.

'Oh yeah. When you go up in the air, just close your eyes and think of something so nice, that you actually seem to be there. Then the butterflies in your stomach are not there because you're scared, but because you're somewhere else, where it's nice and you're happy. And when you land and the butterflies are back because you're descending, you just do the same. I sometimes think about my girlfriend.'

'You have a girlfriend?' Stiles laughs gently.

'Oh yeah, she's my BFF,' the kid grins.

'That sounds great,' Stiles smiles. 'Thank you for the tips. What's your name?'

'Mikey. And you?'

'Stiles.'

'That's an odd name.'

'I know,' Stiles smiles. 'Good thing you never heard my real one.'

'What is it?'

'Unpronounceable,' Stiles grins.

As they both move away, the child doesn't notice that the water he had splattered before, has wet the whole floor underneath the porcelain sinks. The boy's sneakers slip. Going off balance, the child slips backwards, unable to catch the edge of the sink, his head heading straight for the porcelain.

Stiles grabs Mike clumsily before the kid can fall down, using his own body as weight to balance them both. Mikey narrowly misses the sink, clinging onto Stiles' hurt body. In the process, the teenager smashes his right foot into the wall behind the sinks. A sharp pain slides through his right foot like a knife as he bangs his toes hard.

'Damn it,' Stiles mutters as he kneels down, gingerly touching his shoed foot, rubbing the two smallest toes through the thin fabric. The pain remains as he tries to get up awkwardly, realizing there's no way he'll be able to stay on both feet like this. He's off balance as it is, let alone with a hurt foot.

'Hey, are you okay?' Mikey asks, watching him afraid.

'Yeah, I'm fine.' Stiles shakes his foot as if to shrug away the pain. A numbing sensation takes over his two smallest toes. 'It's okay, just banged it. It'll pass soon.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah. See?' Stiles gingerly tries to walk, and as he does, manages to place his full sneaker on the floor. Somehow the rubber surface helps relief some of the pain in his toes. He's adamant about not showing the others how he hurt himself, realizing that they will want to find an excuse in his place not to get on that plane.

As he exits the restrooms with Mikey before him, holding the door, Stiles feels a numbing sensation down the pit of his stomach, as if something's hurting him from the inside. He shakes his head, ignoring the feeling and focuses on the throbbing pain in his foot, trying not to walk like a penguin.

As he returns to the others who are still treating him like a china doll, Stiles tries to avoid limping and acts as if everything's normal and nothing happened.

'You good?' his dad asks troubled.

'Dandy,' Stiles manages to grit through his teeth, convincing the others he's acting like this out of fear.

A moment later, the on boarding call arrives. The group picks up their carrier bags and heads out to the gate, where a plane, about triple the size as the one they arrived with, awaits them. The plane can carry a total of seventy passengers but is far from full.

'Oh crap,' Stiles mutters, staring at it.

Lydia forces her arm through his. 'No backing down now, Stiles. I promise we won't tease you if you throw up again.'

'Good,' he replies, the pit down his stomach growing at rapid speed.

'You're doing fine,' the Banshee whispers in his ear. 'I'm so proud of you.'

In a flash, Stiles looks at her, smiling as she looks him straight in the eye. Then he sees his dad, more nervous than he is. And he remembers again why he's putting himself through this. He wants to go to Europe with his dad, he wants to make him proud.

He straightens his shoulders, ignores all pain and moves forward, getting on board.


	8. The Toes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all again for the beautiful comments!  
> As promised, again a chapter ;)

**Chapter Eight: The Toes**

As the group makes their way on board, they notice that apart from them, about thirty-five other people are taking the same flight between Palm Springs and Los Angeles. Most of them are commuters, some business men who are attending a seminar over the weekend.

Happily, the members of Scott's pack slide into their seats after shoving their carry-on bags into the compartments above them. Stilinski and Melissa do the same, as does Derek, who has been quiet as he followed the others in.

The plane consists of two seating areas with three places next to each other. Stiles takes the middle seat on the left side of the plane, adamant about not wanting to gaze outside. Left from him, Malia is taking the window seat. Lydia is sitting on his right. On the other side of the aisle are his dad, Melissa and Derek.

Scott, Kira and Liam are right behind them, chatting happily about returning to Beacon Hills.

The other passengers are scattered all over the plane, having the luxury of being on a near-empty flight. The flight attendants have told them they can pick their own seats, as long as they divide their weight over the entire plane. They help people choose sits, which happens without a single argument.

Stiles spots Mikey sitting with his parents on the right side of the plane, not so many rows before them. The kid turns to wave at him, before he plugs in a headset and focuses on his Nintendo. He's with a dark woman, who looks to be his nanny.

Malia doesn't fear flying and holds Stiles' hand, grazing gently with her thumb over his skin to relax him. Stiles closes his eyes for a second, content and soothed by her gentle grip. She knows him so well, he realizes, but then so does Lydia, who is at his other side and makes sure their elbows connect.

'Stiles, are you okay?' Malia asks, her hand resting on his skin.

'What?' Stiles looks up startled to find Lydia watching him, as well as Malia.

'Are you alright?' Malia repeats. 'You were limping when you got on board. And you feel warm. Are you running a fever again? Is it your chest?'

'No, I'm fine,' he replies hastily.

'Then why were you limping?' Lydia asks, gazing past him to Malia who is eager to get the truth out of her evasive boyfriend.

'Just banged my foot in the restroom,' Stiles mumbles. 'Shouldn't have been so careless. It's nothing, really.'

Lydia frowns, but he ignores the girls as he stretches both legs and tries to ignore the irritating throb in his foot. Why the hell didn't he pay more attention? He's always such a clutch. At least the plane has enough room for him to stretch his legs. Perhaps he should just sleep the entire flight off. By the time they'll arrive in LA, the soreness might be gone.

Then again, who is he kidding? He knows he probably bruised or broke his toes. At least it feels that way. But it's not that which aches him the most. It's that damned nagging, uncomfortable feeling that starts inside his stomach and seems to float all the way through his system now. He feels sick to the stomach.

Silently he closes his eyes, trying to fight the nausea, only to realize that he won't be able to do so. He pushes himself up and tries to stumble past Lydia, falling straight into a man who is rushing towards the back of the plane to reach the toilets.

The passenger trips Stiles' foot and falls bluntly into him, hurting his chest, shoulder and foot in one haul.

'Ah!' the teenager cries out in pain, not knowing where the worst pain comes from. His foot and chest both seem to battle to gain the upper hand. He tries to get a grip, failing to do so as he closes his eyes and leans heavily forward.

'Stiles!' Lydia calls out, grabbing Stiles as pain shoots through his chest. The guy barely apologizes as he continues his journey down the aisle and vanishes into the toilet. Immediately his dad is up, grabbing his son tight. Stiles leans into his father's firm grip.

The teenager shakes his foot, trying to reach for it with his good hand. His toes feel like they're about to burst out of his sneaker. His right foot doesn't listen to him anymore, sending constant dazzling shots of pain through him. The pain in his chest is slowly returning to its normal ache.

'Gentle,' Stilinski says, lowering his son on Lydia's seat as she moves one to the side to help Stiles.

'Stiles, what's going on?' Melissa asks, moving towards the teenager while the others look up surprised too and stand from their seats.

'I banged my foot,' Stiles mumbles. 'Tripped over water in the restroom, slid and hit. Good going, huh?'

'Jesus Stiles, why didn't you say anything?' his dad exclaims. 'You're a walking accident these days, son.'

'That's exactly why I didn't tell you,' Stiles retorts as he wipes the sweat off his brow. 'It's not like we can afford regular hospital visits, now can we? It's okay dad, it's just my toes.'

'Let me see those toes then,' Melissa says as his dad stands and talks to the flight attendant to explain what's going on.

'We have lift-off in five minutes,' the woman explains. 'If you want to get off the plane, you'll have to do it now.'

'No,' Stiles almost yells. 'We're staying on it. Melissa, please, it's okay. It's nothing really. You can take a look at it when we're airborne. But I just want to go home, okay?'

The nurse gently places her hand on Stiles' forehead, sensing what the others are seeing on Stiles' face and sensing in his behaviour. He's running a fever, not coming from the toes. He's pale as a sheet, a flush toying with his high cheekbones.

'This flight might have been too early,' Melissa worriedly tells the others as Stiles leans back his head and watches them all, knowing what they're thinking. They think he's going to lose it on the flight. They're reluctant to go back with him like this. How ironic that he's now the one nearly begging them to do it.

'No, let's just get home,' Stiles pleads, angry at himself for telling the truth. 'Seriously. I want to get the hell out of this town. I'll sleep it off. It's nothing, really.'

The sheriff hesitates, eager to get home too. 'We did pay for the tickets. It's not a high fever, is it? Can he fly with it?'

'No,' Melissa retorts, 'it's not that high, but enough to keep an eye on him. I'm actually worried that it's happening now. This can't be from hurt toes. There's something wrong.'

'Then we'll take him to a hospital in LA first thing if it gets worse,' Scott proposes. 'Stiles is right, mom. We're on board, it's only a one-hour flight. What could possible go wrong?'

Derek raises an eyebrow as he snorts. 'We're talking about Stiles. Anything could go wrong. He's jinxed.'

'I do tend to agree,' Malia says suddenly, looking at her ill boyfriend. 'He does look like crap. We should get him off the plane.'

'I'm not sure,' Liam says, 'can't he just hold on for an hour? It's not that long. We can help, right?' The younger wolf gazes at Scott for support. The Alpha suddenly feels everyone's eyes resting on him, as if he's the decision maker.

Scott leans forward to Stiles. 'Are you sure you're up for the flight?'

'Yes, I am,' Stiles mumbles. 'Scott, please. I want to forget all of this happened. I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed, with my own pillow that, by the way, someone squashed so hard after our last flight it'll never come back in its normal shape. So I'm bound to sleep badly for the rest of my life. But at least I'll be sleeping in my own bed.'

'He's delirious,' Derek mutters.

'No, I'm not,' Stiles grits. 'I'm fine. Do I need to spell it? F I N E. You guys should just stop fretting all the time. I'm so fed up with it, okay?'

Angrily he sinks back and closes his eyes, refusing to listen to anyone of them. It was worse enough having the pack and Derek act the way they did on the flight out, before it all went wrong. Now he has his dad and Melissa hover him too.

He's not having any of it.

Not all.


	9. The Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the many comments and positive reactions on this story!

**Chapter Nine: The Break**

The flight attendant watches as the pack, Melissa, Stilinski and Derek speak about Stiles as if he's not there. She sees the teenager lean back in his seat, defeated as if he just lost a battle. It seems as if he knows that he can't win this battle. The others are adamant about hovering over him, and he finally lets them.

'You know what?' he sighs tiredly. 'You guys decide. I don't care anymore.'

Scott stands and sees how the other passengers all stare at the strange group. Then he turns to the flight attendant.

'So, what will it be?' she asks. 'On or off?'

'We're staying,' Scott says. 'I'm sorry about the inconvenience.'

'Good. Then strap in so we can leave,' she smiles.

Melissa reluctantly agrees when she sees her son's pleading eyes. She knows that they're all tired and just want to head out home.

'Alright then, but that shoe goes off once we're in the air so I can take a good look, okay? I checked with the flight attendants. They've got a pretty good medical kit on board we can use.'

'Okay,' Stiles mutters, feeling pretty embarrassed by the whole situation. He's relieved they're going, even though a large part of him screams to be taken off board. He grips the edge of his seat while Lydia straps him in. He's now sitting next to her, with Malia on Lydia's other side and his dad able to pat his leg.

'You'll be fine. I'm here,' his dad whispers, 'we're all here, Stiles.'

'I know, Dad,' Stiles just says. 'It's okay. It's going to be fine. I'm sorry about all the hassle. It was so stupid, all of it. I'm stupid.'

'No, you're not,' Stilinski vehemently states. 'You never are. You're the brightest and strongest kid I know.' The man gently squeezes Stiles' good left hand and then smiles tiredly, as he too leans back and says nothing at all, allowing his son the space he needs.

As the plane taxies towards its starting point, accelerates and then smoothly takes off, Stiles closes his eyes and thinks about what Mikey said. With Malia's hand firmly in his, her arm stretched out over Lydia's lap to reach out to him, and Lydia's on his knee, he tries to think happy thoughts. For a long moment, he manages to do just that.

When he looks up again, they're in the air, flying stable high up in the clouds. This flight doesn't seem to be so bad, he thinks as he smiles at Malia, whose hand lets go. She tells him he's doing fine. Relieved, Lydia lets go too and then decides to act as if everything's okay and they're not all extremely worried over Stiles' behaviour.

'Alright kiddo, now take off your shoe,' Melissa orders as she moves past the sheriff, kneeling down in the aisle, her voice betraying she's not having an argument about it. The flight attendant that spoke to them earlier, returns with a large medical kit filled with enough gear to patch twenty people up.

'I wish I could, but Scott has been helping me with my sneakers,' Stiles remarks, looking at his best friend who already moved besides his mother and takes Stiles' foot onto his knee as he kneels down.

Gently the wolf unlaces Stiles' sneaker fully and pulls it off, hurting the already damaged toes in the process. Stiles hisses, staring at the two toes that are definitely swollen. Scott then carefully takes off the sock, trying not to hurt him again.

His toes are already bruised and swollen, the smallest one turning into a darkish red. The one next to it seems to have turned into fifty shades of blue. Yep, definitely banged up and most likely worse, explaining the fierce pain radiating from his ankle to the tip of his toes.

'I'm afraid they're broken,' Melissa remarks, causing Stiles to sigh deeply. 'Can you wiggle them?'

'No,' the teenager says, gritting his teeth as he tries to bite away the pain. 'They feel thick and useless.'

'Stiles, why the hell didn't you tell us?' his dad asks, trying to hide his frustration. 'You do realize that hiding this wasn't exactly a good plan, is it?'

Stiles shrugs. 'Nothing much you can do about broken toes, is there? I honestly thought it would be okay until we landed in LA. But I must admit it hurts like a bitch.'

'No kidding,' Melissa retorts. 'But you're right about one thing. There isn't much you can do except tape them and endure the pain for now. I'll tell you what. I always carry pain relief in my handbag and there's also some here in this kit, so I'll give you some really nice ones so you can doze off for a bit. That will help with the pain.' She smiles and looks at Scott. 'And you have your own pain relief her too, right? I'll tape your toes, and then we can try and get your foot back into your sneaker. A shoe is the best support possible right now. It's a shame you don't have something firmer with you here, but this will have to do. It'll help you until we get to LA. We can hop by the emergency room then for a cast. Okay?'

'Do we have to?' Stiles asks tensely. 'I hate ER's.'

'Yes, we have to, Stiles,' Melissa speaks gently, using her motherly tone of voice. 'We have to check the damage and see if they don't need resetting.'

'No way in hell,' Stiles retorts, 'nobody's touching my foot. It'll heal by itself, it's just toes.'

'Stiles, seriously!' his father's voice sharply speaks. 'Stop doing this to yourself.'

Stiles looks up shocked. 'Do what?'

'You pretend all the time you're perfectly fine. Why the hell don't you give yourself a break now and then?'

'Look who's talking,' Stiles retorts angrily back. 'The guy who forgets to eat, who doesn't remember what a clock looks like and who comes home only to sleep and then head back out.'

Stilinski stops in his tracks, staring at his son as if he's looking at a stranger. Then he realizes that Stiles is right. He does that, exactly so. When was the last time he ate with his son? He doesn't even remember.

'I'm sorry,' Stiles blurts out. 'Dad, I'm so sorry. That was uncalled for.'

'Well, it looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,' Derek says softly. 'You guys are uncannily alike; you know that?'

Stilinski smiles suddenly, breaking the tension that lingers around them. 'You're right, Derek, and it frustrates me. Stiles, please listen to me. You need a hospital, you need to have those toes checked out and I won't have an argument about it. You're my son and I'm still your old man, paying for your bills.'

'Which you can't afford,' Stiles mumbles.

'That's not your problem. Your health is _mine._ '

'Okay, I'm sorry,' Stiles mutters, unable to look the others straight in the eye. He's angry and embarrassed with himself. Lately he feels like everything he says comes out the wrong way, as if all that he wants, to have a nice and comfortable life with his family and friends, is flushed down the drain.

He's returning home all messed up, a fever running because of an old wound and a banged up foot that hurts like a bitch. And a pit in his stomach that feels so off that he knows the old aches he felt earlier this week, have returned. The thought of food kills him, he won't be able to hold anything in, after the bout of nausea he repressed earlier.

Melissa grabs her bag and drops two painkillers into Stiles' hand while Kira goes up front to ask for a bottle of water and explain the crew what is going on. Mikey suddenly appears in the aisle, staring at Stiles' toes in awe as he kneels down.

'Wow. Does it hurt?'

'A little bit,' Stiles smiles back.

'I broke my finger once.' Mikey shows him his thumb, which does seem a bit crooked. 'But it's okay now. My mom gave me some ice cream. Perhaps you should ask that too.'

Stiles smiles, thinking about how he would use that ice cream to sooth the pain on his foot.

'I will,' he replies.

Then Mikey looks up, staring at the adults who seem angry.

'It's my fault,' the kid says. 'I spilled the water on the floor and slipped over it. Stiles wanted to help me before I hit my head on the sink and he slipped.'

The others stare at their friend, realizing that Stiles, no matter what, never thinks of himself first. Even hurt and damaged, he sprung in action to help a young kid who might have wound up in hospital had he not acted.

'Oh god,' Scott mutters. 'Stiles, seriously. Our hero.'

The teenager looks up and says absolutely nothing, too weary to retort or even smirk about it. It was no big deal, just like nothing in his life is ever a big deal. He just does it. He runs with wolves, with a Banshee and a Coyote and never considers these facts of life.

'Thanks Mikey,' Stilinski says, hugging the kid. 'We'll let Stiles sleep now.'

As Stiles downs the tablets and closes his eyes while Malia tucks him gently in with a thin blanket, tiredness takes over. He leans back against his seat, wondering why he feels so out of it. The numbness inside of him increases, expanding from stomach to the rest of his body.

In meantime, Melissa goes to work.


	10. The Tape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the story goes on ...

**Chapter Ten: The Tape**

Stiles sleeps lightly as Melissa works on his foot, still held up by Scott. Mother and son say nothing at all. Her hands work efficiently and carefully but the slightest of gestures causes Stiles to wince, even during his brief sleep. Slowly they help return his foot back into his sneaker while Scott takes away the pain this causes.

Stiles opens his eyes wearily when they finish.

'I'm going to request a wheelchair once we land in LA,' the flight attendant says after discussion with her two colleagues. 'The hospital is notified and offer to send an ambulance.'

'No way,' Stiles says vehemently. 'We'll drive and I'll walk.'

'You can't, Stiles,' Melissa reprimands him. 'You'll need to get those X-Rays and a cast. By the way your foot is looking right now, it's definitely two breaks we're talking about, and there might be some damage to your ankle too.'

Stiles curses under his breath as he leans back his head once more and sighs. He thought the nap would help, but somehow it just seems to make things worse. He feels queasy.

'Are you okay, Stiles?' Melissa asks, patting him on the cheek, her voice concerned. 'You still look like you're in a lot of pain.'

'I'm a bit dizzy,' he admits, 'it's those stupid painkillers.'

Derek places his hand on Stiles' wrist, making sure no one sees as he draws some of the pain away, his eyes resting on Stiles' weary face. He looks gaunt, that's the only way to explain it. His skin is almost grey, reminding them of that night on the plane. It feels like déjà-vû, only with a bigger plane that is flying high up in the air.

'I know,' Melissa says troubled. 'But right now you need to relax. We'll be home before you know it.'

 _I hope so_ , Stiles thought, but something told him this was going to be a very long flight. It was just one of those feelings he had and he couldn't shake it off.

'Typical you, Stiles,' Lydia mutters for him alone to hear. 'Why didn't you just tell us you hurt your foot?'

'And have you all make jokes about it again, you mean?' he retorts. 'No, thank you.'

'We only joke because we love you so much,' Malia brings in, smiling as she leans into her boyfriend. 'Besides, you love it when we do.'

Stiles shrugs and then smiles, realizing that he would find it odd to find them _not_ joking for once. It's what they did, all of them. It's what he does in dire situations. Mouthing off seems to be the only way to cope with it all.

As the flight continues its steady pace, passengers start moving about the aircraft. A man and woman move from the front to the back. In the front of the plane, a baby is wailing and the guy seems to have trouble dealing with it.

They look very much alike, Scott notices absentmindedly as he takes his seat again next to Kira and Liam. They could be brother and sister.

'No,' the man argues with a stubborn look on his face, speaking directly to the woman, ignoring all the others on the plane. 'I'm staying with you.'

Lydia turns around to stare at the man's face, who seems very upset before he sinks down in his chair two rows behind them. The woman looks apologetic at the teenagers, realizing they overheard the argument and then glares back at her brother.

'No Mac,' she patiently says, 'we were lucky enough to get on board as it is. I'll talk to one of the attendants and see if we can have a quieter space than this, okay? But I'm afraid there isn't any. There are no separate compartments.'

Mac reluctantly sits down, his eyes glancing back and forth to his sister who stands and looks apologetic once more as she notices other passengers listening in.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'my brother is very dependent of me. He has a medical condition.'

'On the right it's quieter,' Malia offers, pointing at four empty rows on their right where no one is currently sitting.

The woman's face lights up, happily moving her brother there while she hands him a tablet that he refuses to take. His voice calms as brother and sister sit down, and peace and quiet returns.

Stiles relaxes and gets up, causing his foot to hurt like a bitch.

'Where the hell do you think you're going?' Scott asks behind him, more forcefully than expected, as he places a hand on his shoulder.

'The bathroom,' Stiles retorts. 'Why, do you want to join? It's too small, you know. All those mile-high stories are fake. I'm not planning on testing it out, not even on myself.'

'Stiles, shut up and sit down,' Melissa says sharply from her seat. 'That's an order.'

'I really need to pee,' he mutters.

'Then let Scott go with you. You can hardly stand straight as it is and you'll fall flat on your face, or worse, you'll damage your already hurt chest even more. You can't do this alone under the circumstances. Swallow your pride, kiddo.'

Stiles looks at his best friend. 'No jokes about size, dude, or I swear I'll kill you.'

'Why? What's wrong with your size?' Malia asks innocently, looking up as the others snort loudly. 'I have no complaints.'

'Can you compare?' Derek mutters under his breath as he buries his face down an in-flight magazine.

Stiles curses as he tries to stand on his foot, realizing Melissa is absolutely right. He's completely off balance and won't be able to limp three steps, let alone make it to the bathroom on his own in the condition he's in.

'I suppose nobody has a jar?' he mutters.

Scott laughs, happy to find a bit of Stiles' sarcasm back in his voice.

As the friends return to their seats after a visit to the small cubicle – Stiles was right, it was useless trying to get in the both of them, so he basically helped unzip and lower Stiles' pants halfway down the aisle -, Scott practically has to carry his best friend back.

Somehow, during the whole ordeal of making it to the too small cubicle, Stiles started burning up even more, heat radiating off his chest. Eagerly Stiles sinks down in his seat;

'Thanks dude,' Stiles mutters as he shifts his leg so that it's relaxing on the aisle. He closes his eyes and tries to forget about the pain, but it comes up badly now. The painkiller is wearing off and his stomach is so queasy he knows he'll have to head back out or puke in a brown bag in front of everyone else.

Scott speaks briefly to his mother, having Stilinski listen in as he explains Stiles' fever is running higher.

'Forty-five more minutes to LA,' his dad mumbles, 'and somehow I'm afraid we'll have to call that ambulance.'

Melissa leaves her spot and kneels down by Stiles, feeling his fever. It's definitely higher and she doesn't get why. His amber coloured eyes stare at her.

'There's something wrong, isn't there?' he asks wearily.

She nods. 'Could be an infection. We'll have you checked out, Stiles. Don't worry. It's probably nothing.'

The nurse hands him another tablet that he downs without protesting once and then returns to her seat, with a very worried sheriff gazing at her, demanding questions with his worried, blue eyes. She shrugs quietly and says nothing, willing the plane in silence to get a move on.

Stiles tries to sleep it off while the others read magazines or books, but he can't concentrate. With closed eyes he listens to the noise all around them. Behind him there is chatter and laughter. Before him the attendants are preparing for a drinks and snacks. In Business Class champagne is being offered to the passengers.

Forty-five more minutes of hell before they land.


	11. The Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again for your lovely comments! we're halfway through. ;)

**Chapter Eleven: The Pack**

Lydia looks up suddenly, hearing a sound escaping Stiles' mouth as he leans into her. It's not his snoring that alarms her, but the way he moves. Even in his sleep, he seems to be in pain somehow, unable to sit still for even a moment.

On her left, Malia immediately looks up, as Lydia turns to Stiles, pushing her fingers against his throat frantically. He doesn't wake as she does, nor does he seem to realize how startled she is all of a sudden. But everyone else does notice.

'What is it?' Scott immediately asks, as he leans over Stiles' seat to look at his best friend. Lydia exhales when she feels Stiles' heartbeat throb clearly in his throat. It's more ragged than other times, but still very much felt.

Lydia lets go before Stiles wakes, shaking in her chair as Malia places a hand on her wrist.

'Lydia, what is it? Did you feel something?'

'For one moment, I thought –'Lydia stops, unable to voice her thoughts. 'Never mind. Oh god, this whole situation is getting on my nerves. Why can't we just have a normal flight for once?'

'Stiles just dozed off, Lydia,' Stilinski reassures her, looking at his tired son. 'He's doing fine, Melissa gave him some painkillers, that's all.'

'It's just this plane,' Lydia says, standing up. She steps over Stiles until she's out of her narrow chair, breathing in and out as she stands in the aisle. 'It's so claustrophobic. I'm going stir crazy here.' She looks around, trying to find a way to express how she feels, knowing the others won't feel the same. For them, this is a regular flight. For her, just a minute ago, it felt like a coffin.

There is something seriously wrong on this plane and she can't put her finger on it.

'Lydia,' Scott gently asks, placing both hands on her arms as he takes her aside, making sure no other passengers around them can listen in. 'You're not – you're not feeling anything about Stiles, are you?'

'No, I don't think so,' the Banshee says, her eyes seeking out her sleeping friend. 'It doesn't feel that way at least. But I can't say what it is then that I am feeling. I just – I want to get off this plane, Scott. That's what it feels like.'

Immediately Derek stands, as well as the sheriff and Melissa.

'Lydia, we don't have much experience with this,' the sheriff speaks startled, 'but does that mean something's going to happen?'

Lydia closes her eyes for a moment, trying to listen to the sounds around her. Through it all, she tries to figure out what it is that she senses. She hears the murmur of the people talking.

Behind them, a few passengers start to argue loud. At first Lydia thinks she hears another language, until she realises they both have a very strong Irish accent. She has heard the voices before. It's the guy who moved to the back of the plane, and his sister.

Lydia gently shakes her head as she tunes in on the argument. The discussion is clear for all throughout the entire plane. The woman is clearly trying to calm down her brother. Lydia sighs as she tries to block out the harsh sound of the discussion. The sounds echo inside of her head.

The others hear it too but don't seem too perturbed by it. Lydia holds on tight to the chair she's leaning against as the others watch her intently, trying to give her the space she needs to go through the Banshee motions.

A dark-haired, male flight attendant walks over to them and tries to calm them down. Suddenly the man gets up, stares at the man and snarls, 'Fuck off, man.'

'Please sir,' the attendant says again, louder this time, 'You need to calm down. You are disturbing the other passengers. Why don't you sit down and just relax?'

The man, still standing up straight, turns red. Lydia opens her eyes and stares straight into his. The man sinks down on his seat and buries his head between his hands, rocking back and forth as if he's a kid. He mutters words under his breath that no one really understand. His sister puts her hand on her brother's head and sooths him. 'It's okay Mac. Just relax.'

The man does as he's told. The woman pats him gently on the head and then excuses herself for a second, walking to the front of the Economy Class with the male flight attendant. Mac jerks straight up and follows his sister with his eyes as she makes her way forward.

'Is everything alright?' John Stilinski asks as he gently places a hand on her arm. 'I'm a sheriff, if there's a problem, I can help.'

The woman cries as she stops near the pack, shaking her head.

'I'm escorting my brother to LA where he'll be examined for the millionth time and locked up in another ward. I'm afraid this time they won't release him again. He's been in and out of institutions for years.'

The woman went on to explain that her brother Mac is a schizophrenic with three personalities. Medication is supposed to keep him calm, but the flight has him upset because their parents had died in a helicopter crash and he hates everything that flies.

'He was supposed to take his meds but I feel that he hasn't done so and I've been trying to get him to take his pills ever since we boarded,' the woman confesses. 'I'm terrified that he'll freak out before we land.'

Lydia looks at Scott and Derek with fear in her eyes, telling them exactly what she feels. They know something's about to happen with this guy if they don't tread carefully.

Great, Scott thinks. A psycho on board as well as a very sick Stiles. What else could go wrong in the next half hour?'

'What can we do then?' the attendant asks. 'Do you want to force him to take that medication?'

'If needs be,' she said. 'If he stays calm, I won't have to do it. But if he stays this way, I'm afraid we'll have no choice. But then I will need your help.'

'I'll help,' Stilinski says. 'I've got experience on dealing with psychos.'

'Thank you,' the flight attendant smiles. 'You don't have any handcuffs with you, I suppose?'

'No, I'm off duty. I'm not allowed to carry any weapons on board as is.'

'We can't act before he does anything wrong,' Stilinski explains the flight attendant. 'If he stays calm, he'll be fine. If he starts acting up, I'll talk to him and try to get him to calm down, okay?'

'Thank you,' the woman smiles, grasping Stilinski's hand. Then her eyes find Stiles, fast asleep in his seat. 'Is that your son?'

'Yeah.'

'He looks pretty ill.'

'Yeah, he's been feeling off for a while.'

'I hope he'll be better soon.'

Stilinski smiles. 'I hope your brother will feel better soon too.'

Lydia watches the woman retreat to her seat, feeling sorry for her. How terrible it must be to carry the burden of a sick family member like that, knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Stilinski places a hand on her shoulder, knowing exactly what she's thinking.

'Good thing Stiles is on the mend, hey?' he smiles.

Lydia nods absentmindedly, realizing she's not so sure that he is. A buzz in her ear alarms her. She looks up startled, trying to find the origin of the sound. Her focus ends on Stiles. She leans forward, listening to him as she closes her eyes, while the others of the pack watches intently.

The buzzing comes from inside of him, like a course of electricity running through him, spreading like wildfire.

She looks up at the others. 'How much longer before we land?'

'Half an hour.'

Lydia sinks down in her seat, burying her face between her hands.

'It's not fast enough,' she whispers to herself. 'We're not moving fast enough.'


	12. The Hell

 

 

**Chapter Twelve: The Hell**

'Would you like anything to drink, sir?' a voice asks Stiles, shaking him abruptly awake after a twenty-minute nap.

Wearily he opens his eyes and asks eagerly for some water, feeling very thirsty.

Lydia orders a diet coke and looks at him, trying to hide her nervousness while she watches him intently, trying to figure out where her alarming feelings come from. Somehow Malia has managed to get past him as he slept and is now one chair before them to the right, sleeping with a blanket over her legs.

Twenty-five more minutes before touchdown, he realizes, sad he hadn't slept long enough to get through the rest of their journey.

'How is your stomach?' Lydia asks.

'Terrible,' he admits.

'You look like crap.'

'I feel like it too.'

'Your toes?' Lydia inquires troubled. 'Or anything else?'

'Everything,' Stiles admit, making her look up shocked, sending a shiver down her spine.

Stiles toes seem to burn inside his shoes. The pain is tremendous now. And his stomach feels all upset. In a few hours he will be home though, he thinks Just a few hours and then the others can give him hell about ignoring such an injury and not taking care of it properly for the rest of his life. But he won't go to a bloody hospital. He's going home.

'Don't these damned things supposed to have some entertainment on board or something?' Stiles mutters, fidgeting with his good hand, trying to find something as a way to relax and get his mind off things.

'Not for smaller in-flights like this one,' Scott mentions casually behind him while Kira sleeps against his shoulder. 'It's a small plane, Stiles, not meant for large distances.'

'Well, they should at least offer something. I hate doing nothing,' he mutters.

'Then sleep it off some more,' his dad recommends next to him, placing his hand on Stiles' knee. 'The more you sleep, the easier the flight. If you want, I can slap you around a bit with my gun.'

'Yeah, thanks for that, dad. But your gun isn't here, is it? It's not on board, is it?'

'Nope, it's safely at home. Off-duty sheriffs have to abide the same rules, you know?' he grins, trying to lighten the loaded mood on the plane.

With a cheery voice a female flight attendant announces that they're right on schedule and should be landing in about twenty-five minutes.

'Great,' Stiles mumbles. 'A lot of boredom left. Serves me right. I really do hate myself, don't I?'

'Stop complaining, Stiles,' Lydia mutters as she tried the in-flight magazine before getting up and carefully stepping over Stiles' legs to head for the restroom, hiding once more that she's feeling troubled and almost panicking.

Clearheaded, Stiles tries to find a good position to lie in, finding it just as Malia wakes up and returns to their row, taking Lydia's place in the process. Instantly she slides against Stiles, sleepily dozing off against his good left shoulder for support after pecking him on the cheek and kissing him gently on the lips to shut him up.

Great, now he doesn't have the use of both of his arms, he realizes as he tries to gently shove her back to her side. In return, she just turns to him and sleeps tighter, breathing air into his face. When Lydia returns, she takes over Malia's chosen seat and blanket, grinning at Stiles.

'Now you have to rest,' she smiles before she places the headset on her ears to numb the growing sounds in her ears.

Everywhere around him, people are dozing off or reading. Lydia has fallen asleep in her seat, with the headset still on. She was listening to some ambient music or something to make her relax. Malia is snoring. His dad and Melissa are silently talking to each other. Derek is listening to music, Scott and Kira are both asleep.

Stiles feels isolated and bored in his seat. An attendant offers him another glass of water that he gratefully downs, somehow removing his hand from Malia's head so he can at least take the glass. The flight attendant fishes the small package of painkillers he kept on him from the accident from his jacket pocket and hands him two that he downs. It doesn't feel enough. None of it does.

Stiles freezing cold and hadn't even removed his coat. He closes his eyes wearily. When he opens them again after a moment or two, the world seems to be swaying. He wonders if painkillers can kick in this quickly. He feels them painfully sink down his oesophagus into his stomach, imagining them bursting apart in the acid pit that often upsets his stomach.

He closes his eyes again and tries to sleep. Suddenly a flight attendant asks him whether he would like to have an evening snack, waking him up abruptly. Malia is awake too, watching him shake his head, nauseated at the thought of food.

The Coyote takes a snack and peels off the wrapper, the scent bursting in his nose as if it's vile.

'You really should eat,' she mutters in between bites. 'I know these things are awful, but it's food at least. Here, have some of mine.'

'I'm too tired,' he mutters, feeling Lydia's surprised glare on him as she looks over her shoulder after her short snack. He fades out again, causing the others to look at each other troubled.

'He needs to eat,' Malia says quietly. 'You can't survive without food. Why won't he eat?'

'Because he can go days without food,' Stilinski replies from his seat, 'but that doesn't mean it's healthy. Just let him be for now, Malia. Nothing will persuade Stiles to get some food into him right now. We'll force-feed him at the hospital if needs be.'

'We will _definitely_ do that,' Melissa mutters troubled as she gets up to speak with the flight attendant. Stilinski gets up and follows her instantly, knowing she's taking the decision to get that ambulance ready.

'Melissa.' He grabs her by the arm. 'What the hell is going on with my son?'

'I don't know, John,' she whispers quietly, hoping the other passengers won't be alarmed by all that's going on in the back of the plane. 'But whatever it is, it's more than just a stomach bug. Stiles is seriously ill, but I have no idea yet what is causing it. He needs to see a doctor as soon as we touch down.'

'You're not –'Stilinski stops. 'Is this from the car?'

'I don't know.' Melissa tiredly rubs her forehead. 'I'm worried.' Her confession makes the sheriff look up in shock. Melissa isn't the type to be phased out easily, but this time it seems differently. They look up when Derek appears behind them, his face contorted from worry.

'I leeched some of Stiles' pain. And he is in pain,' the older wolf says quietly for no one else to hear, 'just not from his foot. It's something else. I can't explain what it is, but something's brooding inside of him, burning him from the inside. And his scent is off, like poison.'

'Poison?' Stilinski almost shouts.

'Not literally speaking, John. It's a figure of speech. Like something's poisoning his blood.'

Stilinski frowns. 'Hell.'

Frantically the sheriff stares at Melissa. 'So, what do we do?'

'I'll keep a close eye on him and monitor every single move he makes,' Melissa says. 'That's all we can do for now. And then get him the hell to a hospital.'

'I knew we shouldn't have gotten on this damned plane,' Stilinski sighs.

'If we had driven back, he might have fallen ill on the way over, right in the middle of the desert, that wouldn't have been a good situation either,' Derek states quietly. 'We've been through that, remember?' he adds with a smile.

'Stiles is resilient,' Melissa says. 'He's one tough cookie, whatever happens, he'll pull through.'

A loud shout from the back of the plane alerts everyone who is on board, startling all. As the adults turn, they just know it's Stiles. Rushing to the back of the plane, they find a very distressed and confused teenager, clinging on the edge of his chair. He sits doubled over in pain, his good arm resting so tight around his abdomen, his knuckles are white.

Scott has his hand resting on Stiles' shoulder, pulling back shocked when he feels the pain extruding from his best friend's form. 'Oh god,' he whispers, shocked by the sheer amount radiating from Stiles.

The teenagers surrounding him, look up in fear at the adults.

'What's wrong?' Scott asks frantically. 'Melissa, what's _wrong?_ '

'He's dying,' Lydia whispers, her eyes full of fear as she gazes at the others. 'Scott, he's _dying._ '

The werewolves immediately know that this is the scent they've all been smelling. Something inside of Stiles is slowly killing him.

 


	13. The Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again - i am so amazed by your many comments !

Chapter Thirteen: The Pain

Stiles' light nap takes less than five minutes. Suddenly he opens his eyes with a startle, wondering where he is, his head spinning out of control as he tries to focus. Out of his mouth escapes a harsh, loud, rough cry as his abdomen seems to explode from the inside out. He just can't hold it in, the pain so bad he feels like screaming out loud.

Immediately Lydia and Malia are at his side, calming him down, while Scott places his hand on his shoulder, instinctively retracting when he feels the harsh pain radiating from the inside out.

Now, as the others surround his seat, Stiles looks up, trying to focus on where he is. He has to get out of his seat now. He just has to do.

The teenager groans as he tries to get up to roughly make his way down to the bathroom, pushing anyone who is in his way to the side. Before anyone can stop him, he stumbles to the back of the plane, using his hurt foot without even processing the pain.

Stiles half-limps, half falls into the small cubicle that is the closest to him, past Mac and his sister who eye him shocked, groaning as the tiny bit of food he ate before the flight, is struggling to find a way out.

He hears people call out his name but he ignores them all. Frantically, he fumbles with the lock, opening it and sliding inside, locking it before anyone can stop him. Behind the closed door, he rests his face against the cool glass for a second, staring at his own very pale features. His stomach is struggling indeed. Something's about to explode inside of him.

And then it comes. Stiles leans over the bowl and closes his eyes as the small remains of his tiny dinner comes out. His stomach is releasing all of the painkillers and food he ate.

'Damn it,' he mutters as the cramps in his stomach and bowels calm down instantly, releasing the pressure on his body as he flushes the chemical toilet. 'Damn all of this.'

His face feels too warm; his entire body is bathing in sweat. And for one moment he wishes he were dead, just to end the pain of it all. Instantly ashamed, he stops thinking such thoughts. He calms down at once, realizing there are many people outside of this cubicle who would freak out if he were gone. He has to hold.

'It's just a bug, Stiles,' he mutters to himself. 'Just a stomach bug, you'll be fine.'

Ignoring the alarm bell inside his head it's much more than that, Stiles refuses to stare at his own reflection. He rubs over his teeth with water, trying to get the foul scent out of his mouth. Then he splashes icy-cold water in his face.

His stomach is still rummaging and he doesn't have anything on him to take to sooth the pain in it. He feels like crap, at this moment feeling as every single minute on this damned plane is too much. Why the hell did he want to fly again? It must be stress, pure stress.

Tiredly he hears someone knock at the door.

'Stiles, are you okay?' Melissa stands outside. She seems to be alone, away from the overbearing care of the others. He unlocks the door, allowing her to come in as he sits down on closed toilet lid and leans his head against the thin wall, sweating pouring down his face.

'What's wrong?' she asks troubled, kneeling down by his side.

'I feel like hell. Stupid plane-sickness.'

'Are you sure?' She places a hand on his forehead. 'Your fever's still up, but not as much as it was before. You are sweating profusely.'

'That's because I profoundly feel like crap,' he stutters. 'And then some.'

'It could be a stomach bug. Does it feel like the pain you felt a few days earlier?'

'And then some,' Stiles repeats. 'Whatever this thing is, it's stubborn. I don't like it one tiny bit.'

'So it seems,' Melissa retorts, a smile playing on her features. 'As long as you have your wit, I'm sure you'll be okay. Foot, stomach, chest and all. We'll touchdown in about twenty-five minutes, Stiles. We can survive that, right?'

'The list of injuries and problems grows by the minute,' Stiles sighs embarrassed. 'I'm pretty sure it's just my stomach not able to handle this flight and all of you are fretting for nothing. Happened on the way over too. Didn't Scott tell you I threw up in a bag and used to attack the guy attacking us?'

'I vaguely recall that gruesome part of your ordeal,' the nurse smiles. 'Seriously though, why did you fly again if you knew this could happen?'

'To prove to myself I'm not a nuisance. And to tell my failing body I'm not giving in,' Stiles says stubbornly.

'Stiles,' she gently whispers, hugging him tightly while he remains seated on top of the toilet, resting and catching his breath. 'You're never a nuisance. Whoever gave you that idea? Has anyone ever said that to you? I don't recall your friends saying that.'

'They didn't. It's just my stupid self-consciousness and damaged proud talking,' he whispers tiredly. 'Sorry, Melissa, I'm just so tired of it all. I'm fed up.'

'You're tired of the pampering.'

'And the constant worrying of the others, the way they gaze at me as if I'll fall apart in a thousand pieces. Yes, we had a serious accident, and yes, I nearly died. But the emphasis is on the word nearly. I'm okay now, battered and all. Yet, I feel like damaged good, like someone who can't be trusted anymore to be ever left alone. It's like I need the others to save my ass all the time.'

'But you saved theirs too, remember?' she asks, gently cupping his chin. 'Stiles, from what I hear, you attacked that guy with a pair of scissors and a foul-smelling bag of your own bile. If I had been you on the plane, I wouldn't have been able to do that in the exact same state. I would have been screaming until he probably shot me. And you survived, Stiles, you saved Lydia and Liam when you were already down for the count. You did that only on your own account, through your strength. A strength, which by the way, saved you and got you through your ordeal. Can't you see that for yourself?'

Stiles shakes his head lightly. 'I screwed up when we were at that car.'

'And they screwed up when they landed that plane.'

'I'm not angry at them for that little detail,' Stiles smiles quietly. 'They were trying to save the world, as they always do.'

'Are you upset with them for doing that all the time?' Melissa asks, knowing that nobody really knew what went on in Stiles' head. 'You are someone who has an extraordinary group of friends, you know? I'm always in awe of what you guys do; how much weight of the world you take upon you. You never hesitate to work with them, because you are part of an amazing pack.'

'I know,' Stiles smiles weakly. 'And I'm only alive now because of them. And I do need them, but I don't want to be the weak one anymore. I want to carry my own weight, with or without a baseball bat. I feel so damned useless, Melissa. Everything's falling apart and I don't know how to deal with it. I'm the nuisance, for being physically unable to heal myself.'

'You're human, Stiles. Just like the rest of us. You do know that your pack of friends are the odd ones out and not the opposite way?'

Stiles grins. 'I forget that sometimes.'

Melissa smiles, hugging him gently again. 'I know and believe me, I know what it feels like. Just take it one step at a time, day by day. You're doing so well, Stiles. The doctors told us little more than a week ago you'd probably have to stay for a couple of weeks at the hospital to fully heal. And you got out in less than a week. Doesn't that tell you something? I'm so proud of you.'

Stiles shrugs, as he sadly looks at her, blurting out what has been on his mind for so long.

'I miss her, Melissa. On days like this, I miss her so much. I imagine she would have been like you. All the memories I have, are so vague and so strange. So harsh.'

Melissa looks on in shock as Stiles bursts into tears, leaning his head against her shoulder. Gently she brushes her hand over his hair, knowing all too well how much Stiles craves for his mother, or someone who can take over the part of being one. She has tried to do so several times, but it's not enough. She's not Claudia and she can never replace her. But she can be there as much as possible.

She thinks of John Stilinski, nervously sitting in his seat, allowing her to comfort his son because he doesn't know how to do it himself at times like this. He's a good man and a fantastic father, who has had it rough. Stiles never shows his emotions, never tells anyone how he feels about Claudia, but she's always there, lingering in the back of his mind.

'I know, Stiles,' she whispers gently. 'I know. But she's in your heart and in your mind. And she's with your dad too.'

Gently she rocks him against her body, allowing him to regain posture. As he calms down, Stiles smiles wearily, rubbing his face awkwardly as he silently thanks her. 'I've always wondered about you and dad.'

Melissa grins. 'So have I. Come on, let's get you back in your seat so I can knock you out with some nice painkillers to sooth your stomach.'

The nurse steps out of the cubicle first and beckons her son who eagerly waits in the aisle to help his best friend. Gratefully Stiles leans into him heavily, allowing the wolf to take most of the weight while he gently leeches some of the pain.

As they pass past the seats where Mac and his sister are sitting, the man stands and looks at them both, his eyes focused on Scott's arm. Black veins are visible for a moment, Scott forgetting a moment long that they are not the only passengers in the back of the plane.

Together the teenagers slowly make it back to Stiles' seat. A flight attendant passes by to inquire if everything's okay now, troubled at the pale pallor of Stiles' face.

'Can we talk for a moment?' Melissa says, moving to the front with the flight attendant, to explain what is going on.

Stiles leans back in his seat, cold sweat resting on his face. The world seemed hazy and confused, and his toes were playing war inside his cramped shoe. But mentally, he's doing better than before. He's starting to accept the care of the others.

'He still smells off,' Derek remarks quietly as he watches the teenager.

'I know,' Scott says. 'Twenty more minutes before we land.'

Lydia gently cups Stiles' hand as she sits on the sheriff's old seat. Stiles' dad has moved to the front of the plane with Melissa, pacing down the aisle as he tries to calm his troubled mind. Liam and Kira stand one seat behind them, both listening to the conversations and watching Stiles.

Malia leans into her boyfriend and kisses him gently. 'You'll be fine, Stiles.'

Derek gives him a gentle, caring smile as he takes over the leeching and tries to focus on taking away as much pain as he possibly can. At the same time, the older wolf tries to identify the chemical signals Stiles' body is sending.

Stilinski returns and embraces his son with that worried frown on his face, saying absolutely nothing about the fact his son has streaks of tears still on his face. The only thing he sees, is the exhaustion on his son's face, shining through in the red and black circles underneath his eyes and his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He seems so young, the sheriff thinks shocked.

'Dad, I'm okay,' Stiles mutters, but they all know he's lying. 'You don't have to fret so much. Not good for your heart.'

Stilinski smiles, ignoring his son for a moment as he addresses the others. 'We made sure the ambulance is waiting to bring Stiles to a hospital immediately. It'll be on the runway; we don't want to lose more time.'

'Isn't that a bit dramatic?' Stiles mutters.

'Stiles, I don't want to take any risks with you,' his father speaks firmly. 'This could be airplane-sickness, or a bug causing this fever and these aches, or something else innocent. But you're exhausted and too skinny for your own good right now and you're in constant pain. You need to strengthen up. They'll probably push some fluids into you and keep you overnight.'

Stiles looks wearily up, too tired to protest against his dad's wishes.

'Okay then, pops,' he just says in the end, worrying the others instantly. Stiles not protesting is a first for all of them.

Melissa gives the teenager medication that melts on his tongue. He doesn't protest about that either. He eagerly drinks the entire cup of water Kira hands him and lets his head rest against the seat, happy to be able to relax for just a second.

Stiles falls asleep like that, surrounded by them all, accepting he's got them as his safety blanket. Only to wake up less than three minutes later, groaning as his stomach acts up once more, this time so quickly and so badly, he's not able to keep his pain hidden behind his lips.

Stiles leans forward, clutching his abdomen and calling out his dad's name frantically, so loud that other passengers look up startled too. Immediately Melissa is back by his side, worried sick as she sees him lean forward in excruciating pain. Resting his head against the seat in front of him, Stiles tries to gain his composure, failing miserably in doing so.

'Stiles, what's wrong, where does it hurt?' Melissa urges.

The nurse tries to get his good hand away from him abdomen, unable to get him to move. Scott's hand pulls him gently back as he immediately tries to get a focus on the pain. He hisses from the sheer heaviness that lingers over Stiles.

'It's getting worse,' the Alpha says frantically. 'Much worse. Mom, what is this? Why is it getting bad so quickly?'

Stiles looks at Melissa, frowning and confused as another bout of sharp pain stabs through him. He leans forward as he heaves, supported by Melissa and Scott who tries to extract some of the pain. Behind them, his dad looks on troubled, while Lydia and Malia bite their fingernails. Liam just stares in shock, unable to say a single word as Derek moves closer and helps Scott leech some of the pain.

'Stiles, focus on me,' Melissa says firmly, gripping Stiles wrist to scan his rapid heartbeat. 'Where does it hurt now?'

'Everywhere,' he pants. 'Simply everywhere. It burns all over. I can't deal with this – I can't – '

And that sets everything in motion. Stiles would never admit he was sick, unless he really, truly is. Melissa turns to the sheriff, her eyes betraying her concern as she tries to prod Stiles' abdomen for the source of the pain.

Stiles cries out, slumped against Scott, for a second fading in and out while Melissa frantically calls out his name. He's back at once, but it's enough to make Lydia jump out of her skin. She knows immediately what it is she keeps on hearing over and over again.

It's the ticking time bomb inside Stiles' body.


	14. The Appendix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the lovely comments, kudos and following!  
> As promised, chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: The Appendix**

Melissa orders the group around firmly, taking charge immediately, telling them to move up the seat supports, so Stiles can lie down completely over the row of three chairs. Malia is in the row right behind them now, reaching over to stroke Stiles' hair as he lies panting on the chairs, still clutching his stomach with his left hand.

The sheriff and Derek moved the three chairs before their row forward as much as possible, providing the nurse with as much space to work with as possible. She kneels down by Stiles, who is now lying on his left side, his right arm still clung to his chest in the sling.

The blonde flight attendant moves her other passengers in the front of the plane as much as possible, except for the brother and sister who refuse to budge. The man stares unmoving at the scene unfolding five rows before them.

'Is he going to be okay?' the woman asks concerned. 'How can I help?'

'By getting us on the ground as quickly as possible,' Sheriff Stilinski speaks through gritted teeth.

Stiles has trouble focusing on her and the rest of the pack, as he slowly breathes through the pain that now constantly radiates through his body. He's having a hard time with it, as his chest hurts with every move too. Gently Melissa removes the sling, asking Stiles to keep his right arm as still as possible nonetheless. It does seem to help a bit. She has better access now to his abdomen, to find out the source of the pain.

'Your abdomen?' Melissa asks gently as she examines him.

'Yeah,' Stiles moans. 'Everything hurts. Can't you just shoot me now and get it over with?'

She smiles worried, surprised that he admits to feeling this crappy. That's not his style. She prods him gently, watching him wince as she touches his abdomen, her hands pushing up his T-shirt as much as she can. Scott has his foot on Stiles' ankle, leeching pain so his best friend can relax. He sees the expression on his mother's face, knowing she's not happy with her conclusion.

Fifteen more minutes before they land, and it feels like an eternity.

'Stiles, I have to talk to your dad,' Melissa says gently, placing her hand on his forehead gently. 'Why don't you rest here for a while, so I can figure out what to do, okay?'

As she moved from her place, Malia instantly takes over and stays with him, talking to Stiles who fades in and out between pain attacks. The nurse moves forward down the aisle, noticing the other passengers are now openly staring at them all. Mikey's mom holds him tight as the kid watches the teenagers and adults who are with Stiles.

The nurse beckons the other closer to her, her eyes gazing back and forth to Stiles. She takes them further down the plane, to a quieter place where not a lot of other passengers are sitting and can't overhear them. The blonde flight attendant and her male dark-haired colleague joins them there.

'How much longer before we're in LA?' Melissa asks the woman. 'We're running out of time.'

'Less than fifteen minutes,' she says frantically, obviously not used to dealing with these types of stress situations. 'I just checked with our pilot.'

'We might not have fifteen minutes,' Melissa speaks quietly. The woman stares at her shocked.

'My guess is that Stiles is suffering from acute appendicitis. He's running a high fever, complains of pain all over his body and he's sweating like hell. His abdomen is the source of the pain, when I touch it, he can't even cope. His heartbeat is extremely fast too and he's drifting in and out. This is pretty serious, I'm afraid.'

'How can that be?' Derek asks. 'He was fine when we boarded.'

'No, he was already running a fever then, remember?' Lydia speaks troubled. 'We thought it had to do with his chest injury and dismissed it. It was right in front of us all this time and we just ignored its urgency.'

'And Stiles thought it was plane-sickness and anxiety, that's why he didn't complain about it,' Melissa explains. 'He might not even have known that the pain he's been feeling for a couple of days, was that serious.'

'Goddammit,' Stilinski curses under his breath. 'How could we have missed this, Melissa? What if the appendix ruptures before we land?'

'Or the appendix might already have burst and is currently spreading its poison all over his system,' Lydia mutters, shocking the others. She looks at Derek. 'That might be the scent you've been smelling.'

Derek nods. 'I'm afraid so.'

'Melissa, what if it's not burst yet?' Stilinski asks. 'What if it ruptures before we touch down? Could that happen?'

'Then we're talking minutes before things get a whole lot serious,' Melissa confesses, placing her arm on Stilinski's arm. 'John, we can't think that way. Fifteen minutes is not that long; we might be in luck. Stiles might be just fine. I might be overreacting.'

'You're not,' Lydia speaks quietly, her large eyes focusing on the nurse. 'Stiles doesn't have time. This thing is suffocating him like a shadow.'

'I'll go talk to the pilot,' the flight attendant says, looking strangely at Lydia without asking further questions.

'Can we land anywhere else?' Derek asks.

'No, it will be of no use to land anywhere else, as we're very close to LA and there's a good hospital right next to the airport. The ambulance is already on the way, so we might have to warn them that we're talking appendicitis here. But I do hope that we'll have enough time to get him off board.'

Troubled the blonde woman rushes to the front of the plane while the others look at each other in fear. The dark-haired attendant moves to the other side of the plane, where a passenger frantically tries to draw his attention.

'So what can we do?' Liam asks. 'Can we help Stiles somehow?'

'We can leech the pain from him,' Scott says, looking at Liam and Derek. 'It might be enough to get him through it until we touch down. We know that Stiles is able to focuses away from the pain if he concentrates enough. We've seen it happen before, he can hold on. If he doesn't really realize how sick he truly is, he might will his body into a state of hypnosis, paralysis even.'

'The lesser he moves, the better for his body,' Melissa agrees. 'It might help.'

'So we keep him comfortable,' Derek states.

'And you do what you did on that other plane, Lydia,' Scott speaks quietly. 'You get his mind off things. That way, Stiles won't react frantic and has lesser chance of rupturing his appendix, if it's still complete inside his body.'

'But it won't save him in the end,' Melissa speaks quietly. 'I am very afraid at this moment that the infection is already spreading and that we acted too late.'

The nurse closes her eyes for a second as she tries to figure out what to do next. This isn't a hospital with operating theatres. They're high in the sky, facing a life-threatening situation. She's helpless up here.

'And what if you do the surgery on board of the plane?' Lydia proposes suddenly. 'Could that save him?'

The others stare at her shocked, Melissa turning pale.

'You can't be serious,' Melissa utters. 'Lydia, we're in the air, this isn't exactly a sterile plane, you know? There are zillions of bacteria flying around in here, one of each could kill him if it touches his organs. And I don't have any medical equipment here either to speak of, so that is out of the question.'

'But what if we could make it as sterile as possible? We could move him to the first class area and use the materials we have on board,' Lydia pushes. 'If you can remove the appendix before it bursts, he'll be fine, right?'

'Apart from the zillion ways he could be infected with those floating bacteria I just mentioned? Lydia, I can't do this,' Melissa utters shocked. 'Seriously, you don't know what you're asking of me. I'm not a surgeon, I'm just a nurse. And I don't have the equipment to slice and dice as if it were nothing.'

Lydia places her hand on Melissa's shaking wrist, calming her down.

'I thought I couldn't do it either, but I did. I pushed a needle down his lung to save his life, while a doctor guided me through it. If I can do that without medical experience, Melissa, then you can cut him open and pull that damned thing out.'

'Lydia, I – 'Melissa stops, realizing the sheriff and the others are staring at her as if she's a miracle worker.

'It could save his life, Melissa,' Stilinski speaks quietly, his eyes fixed on his very ill son who lies on the seats with his eyes closed. 'If we lose him now, I'll never forgive myself. You have to do whatever it takes to save him, even if it means cutting him open mid-air.'

'He doesn't have much time,' Derek agrees. 'The sickness is spreading. His smell is going completely off. He's reaching the final stage.'

Melissa sighs as she runs her hands through her hair, realizing that the others have a point she refuses to accept.

'I need to speak with some people before I will even consider this option,' she mutters. 'We're talking ten minutes before touchdown, guys. Only ten minutes. It should be enough to get him off the plane and get others do this in a proper operating theatre. I mean, I can't even sedate him, so he would be awake during the surgery.'

'Like you said yourself, ten minutes can make a world of difference,' Stilinski speaks quietly, staring at the others. 'And they could help.'

With a worried frown on her face, Melissa sighs and heads to the front of the plane, where she speaks with the blonde flight attendant once more.

'I need to get in touch with a hospital,' she says. 'Can you put me through if I give you the name of a specific doctor? It's very, very urgent. We don't have much time left. Our friend is dying.'

'I'll see what I can do,' the flight attendant promises before she heads into the cockpit to discuss with the pilots.

Melissa moves back to the back of the plane and kneels down by Stiles' side, surprised when he looks up at her. He's awake and alert, but still in a world of pain. Startled and hopeful they'll make it to the ground safely, she examines him again, immediately realizing that it's getting worse, despite the way it might seem at first.

They're right, she realizes. He is dying. He doesn't have twenty minutes left. If they touch down, they won't be on time to get him into an operation room.

'You seem a bit better,' Melissa says encouragingly, knowing Stiles realizes all too well his life is on the line. Gently she places his hand on his forehead again.

'Don't lie, Melissa,' he smiles weakly. 'We all know it's pretty bad.'

The smile fades from the nurse's face as she nods, telling him the truth quietly.

'I'm sorry,' she whispers with tears in her eyes. 'I wish I could do more for you. Do you want more painkillers to ease the pain?'

'No,' Stiles whispers, 'the pills make me feel very drowsy.'

'Drowsy?' she asked surprised, 'that's odd. You've taken them before and they didn't give you any side effects. You should have been fine with them.'

'Perhaps they don't work anymore,' Malia says, her dark eyes focusing on Melissa. 'Is there anything else you can give him? He's in so much pain I can't even extract it all.'

'Not before we know what is making him so sick,' Melissa confesses. 'Whatever I can give him, won't be enough.'

'It's my appendix, isn't it?' Stiles mumbles, looking Melissa in the eye.

'I think it is.'

Stiles sighs wearily. 'Great.'

'I'm sorry, Stiles,' Melissa says quietly, gazing at the others standing around them, crowding the aisle. 'We're trying to figure out a solution. An ambulance is waiting; I'm actually debating to cut you open mid-air right now to get that damned thing out. How cool would that be, huh?'

'It wouldn't be the first time someone cut me open on a plane,' Stiles quips, staring at Lydia, who smiles back weakly. 'But that doesn't sound like a good idea, does it, under these circumstances?'

'It might cause you more damage than good,' Melissa agrees. 'But right now, we're getting pretty desperate.'

'What happens if it bursts open mid-air?' Stiles asks wearily.

'Your internal organs will all be infected.' Melissa hesitates. 'It might already be too late as we speak. The abdominal sharp pain you're feeling, sounds pretty much like peritonitis, which is basically an infection that spreads throughout your body and can cause sepsis. If left untreated, you'll die. When we get you to a hospital, you'll need surgery so they can rinse the organs and give you very strong antibiotics to stop the infection. And of course your appendix, or what's left of it, needs to be removed.'

Stiles swallows away his stress. 'Thank you for being so honest with me. That surgery mid-air does sound like a good idea right now.'

'I'm not going to lie, Stiles. Every minute counts from now on. Unfortunately, I have nothing to help you with here, so even if I wanted to do it, I wouldn't be able to get your appendix out anyhow. I'm going to be very honest, if my diagnosis is correct, it's going to be a very rough ride. You'll be very sick for a number of days, will probably even be in a chemical coma for a while so your body can heal properly.'

'What are my chances?' Stiles asks, swallowing away his fears.

'About sixty percent, if the peritonitis has spread.'

Shocked, the others stare at Melissa, realizing that her prognosis is pretty bad.

'Every minute counts, like I said,' Melissa says hoarsely.

'Can I have a minute alone with Melissa?' Stiles asks, looking up at the others who are listening in. The group quietly retreats to the front of the plane, leaving the nurse and her patient alone for a moment.

'Don't do the surgery,' Stiles pleads, grabbing her hand tight. 'It will only cause you stress and won't help me much, now will it? I don't want you to go through all that, Melissa.'

'It might be your only chance,' she reacts.

'No, it isn't. And it's not your fault,' he whispers. 'You've done all you can.'

Melissa smiles, placing her hand on Stiles' forehead. 'You're a good kid, Stiles. You just hold on and focus on better things, okay? This too shall pass.'

'If I don't get through this, please promise me you'll date my dad,' he whispers. She looks up startled, staring him in the eye.

'Stiles –'

'You're the best mom you could wish for, Melissa,' the teenager continues with a weak smile on his face. 'And he's the best dad ever. He'll need you. Promise me you'll take care of him.'

'Stiles, you can't make me do promises like this,' Melissa begins. 'That's called emotional blackmail, remember?'

'Come on, Melissa, have you ever seen how cute my dad is?' Stiles winks, causing her to laugh.

'I know,' she retorts, looking at Stilinski who is talking to the flight attendant and co-pilot. She gets up, getting the others closer to Stiles again.

'The plane is descending,' Derek says. 'We should be there soon.'

The others sigh in relief. Lydia grasps the edge of Stiles' seat, closing her eyes for a brief moment. 'He'll make it,' she says. 'He just has to.'

A set of hands grab her tight suddenly and pull her backwards.

'No,' a sharp male voice behind them cries out. 'Get the plane back in the air. Get it up now!'

The group turns, to find Mac standing behind them, a pocket knife pressed deeply against Lydia's throat. The Banshee has tears running down her face as she moves her hands in the air, her eyes focusing on her friends.

'We are not going to land this damned plane,' Mac hisses. 'Or she dies.'

'If we don't land, that boy dies too,' Melissa says quietly, pointing at Stiles, lying feverishly on the seats they freed up for him.

The mental patient smiles. 'Good, because that kid ain't human and neither are any of you. Or did you really think I didn't notice that you guys are all freaks? Did you really think I hadn't seen what you were doing?'

The point of the knife presses harder into Lydia's skin as she's pulled backwards against the man who has just murdered his sister.


	15. The Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly amazed with the many comments and kudos! Thank you again so much !

Chapter Fifteen: The Knife

'All of you, step to the front of the plane,' Mac orders all passengers and aircrew while he pushes the blade of his knife deeper into Lydia's skin, showing he means what he says.

'Be calm,' Derek soft and gentle, his voice calm as he takes a step forward. 'Easy now, you don't want to hurt her.'

'Back, big guy,' Mac snarls, pulling Lydia closer to him. 'All of you must be head to the front. I don't want anyone behind me. And you,' he points at the flight attendant. 'You can go tell your captain that he can't land the plane. Make him turn it around.'

The other passengers do immediately as Mac says, all startled by the small switchblade he hid before boarding the plane. The pack reluctantly does the same as each of them silently try to figure out how to surprise the man with the knife without alarming the other passengers.

Melissa and the sheriff lean towards Stiles, both moving to get him up and away from the row he's on, trying to get him into safety.

'No, not him,' Mac snarls. 'That kid stays where he is.'

Lying on his side panting, Stiles is too tired to protest and looks at his dad, pushing him quietly away.

'It's okay,' he whispers. 'Just do as he says.'

'Look, son,' Stilinski begins, addressing Mac, as he urges the others to move to the front of the plane. 'I'm a sheriff, and we're going to figure this out.'

His eyes set are on Lydia and her hostage taker. 'You're on a damned plane, okay? There's no way you can get out of here in one piece if you start hurting people. Just let the girl go, you've got no reason to harm her. She's done nothing to you. Take me instead, or one of the others, but not her. She's terrified.'

Mac stares at them all, pressing the knife point deeper into Lydia's throat, a trickle of blood pouring down from it. She gasps, trying to pull away without result.

'Move back, sheriff. Do you carry weapons?'

'No, I'm off duty,' Stiles' dad says.

'Good, or she would be dead right now. Go to the others, now.'

Stiles moves up so he can sit upright, staring pale at the man who is standing in the aisle behind him, his knife constantly on Lydia's throat. He moves so he sits with his right side against the seat, looking tiredly up at Mac.

'Take me,' Stiles mutters. 'If you think there's something wrong with me, I'll trade myself for her.'

He stands quietly, stumbling as he does, gripping the edge of his seat.

'Stiles, no,' his dad calls out, knowing his son won't listen to him.

'Sit down,' Mac snarls, pushing Stiles roughly back on the seat, causing the teenager to gasp as the attacker strikes his chest.

The sheriff tries to see past Mac to find out where the woman is who was with him. He sees immediately what Stiles sees at the exact same time. To his shock, the woman is lying in her seat, bleeding from a gaping wound in her throat. She's dead.

Nobody saw that he killed her before he moved towards them, too busy with Stiles. Melissa pushes her hand against her mouth when she sees Stiles, sweat pouring down his face, staggering up for the second time.

'Get the plane up in the air again and turn around or she dies,' Mac repeats, calling out to the flight attendants. 'And then I'll kill your sick friend too. And the rest of you aliens.'

'They're not aliens,' Stiles whispers as his dad moves to the front of the plane, leaving his son reluctantly behind in the hands of the hostage taker.

'I don't care what they are. What you are,' Mac retorts, gripping Lydia tighter. 'I know what I saw.'

'I'm nothing, man, just a regular human,' Stiles mutters, wiping sweat off his forehead. 'You see things that aren't there. Please stop this.'

Mac studies him intently.

'You're sick, aren't you? Some weird, infectious disease?' he asks sharply, staring at Stiles' pale, sweaty features.

'It's his appendix,' Melissa says loudly, trying to reason with the guy as she again moves halfway down the plane, not willing to leave her patient fully alone. 'That boy is going to die if we don't land this plane immediately. He's a very sick young man, don't you see that? What's your name?'

'Mac,' Stiles says hoarsely, holding onto his abdomen. 'His name is Mac.'

'That's right,' the attacker replies. 'And you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do. You're going to turns this flight around and head back to Palm Springs. I won't let anyone in LA take control over me like my sister wanted them to do. Turn it now or I'll slash her throat.'

Lydia's eyes focus on Stiles who smiles weakly at her, realizing that they're in this together. He nods gently, easing her stress by his presence.

'If we do as he says, we lose Stiles,' Melissa whispers to Stilinski. 'We can't afford not to land immediately. He needs help now.'

'I know,' the sheriff whispers back stressed. 'But if we attack Mac, he'll murder Lydia without giving it a second thought. That guy slashed his own sister's throat. He's psychotic. We can't get to him. I can't sacrifice her for my son, Melissa.'

'Do you have weapons on you, anything that can help?' Derek asks quietly while the others stand close, trying to figure out what to do.

'No, I don't have a gun, and even if I had, I wouldn't risk shooting him and hitting Lydia or Stiles. Or worse, hit the plane and crash us all,' Stilinski returns frustrated.

'If we can get him to trade for one of us, he can stab us and we won't die,' Malia offers. 'I don't mind doing it. I'll heal, like we all can. It might save Lydia.'

'Or endanger her further,' Liam says. 'This guy is fast. He'll freak out before we even get close.'

'Somehow this guy knew how to pick Lydia,' Scott whispers. 'He has an eye for these things, like he knows exactly which one of us is not a regular person. So I'm guessing he won't trade for anyone. He has who he wants. He won't hesitate to kill them both either.'

The flight attendant returns. 'We're turning the plane around,' she says frantically.

'No, my son will die if you do that!' Stilinski cries out. 'You can't.'

'If we don't, he'll kill that girl and probably a lot more people,' the woman retorts. 'This is our company policy. We do as he says. There will be negotiators waiting for us once we land where he wants us to.'

'Then you've just signed my son's death certificate,' Stilinski speaks quietly. 'He'll still kill her. And he will kill anyone who he can get his hands on. This guy won't hesitate; he'll never get what he wants.'

'What does he want then?' Melissa asks frantically. 'Does anyone know? What is his demand?'

'He wants nothing but to stay out of LA,' Derek states quietly. 'His sister brought him here under pressure. Most likely because he was getting out of control. Now, he thinks that Los Angeles is hell, and he will do anything to stay out of that.'

'So, what do we do?' Malia asks angrily. 'That guy has two of our friends. We won't just sit back and wait and see, will we?'

'No, we won't,' Scott speaks quietly. 'Even if it means we have to betray ourselves.'

He looks at Derek, who nods in agreement.

'Nobody is betraying anything,' Stilinski speaks. 'I'm going to reason with him.'

'Then do it fast,' Melissa urges, 'Stiles doesn't have much time left.'

The group looks up as they notice the change on the plane, rocking them gently first, and then swaying, as the plane circles back, leaving Los Angeles airspace. Instantly the passengers stare at each other frightened, knowing they're too late to stop the pilots. The other people on the plane start protesting. Melissa grabs the flight attendant's sleeve.

'You can't do this,' she pleads. 'You'll kill him. Stiles needs to be in a hospital right now.'

'I'm sorry,' the male flight attendant sighs. 'I've tried to reason with the pilots but they follow what our hostage negotiators tell them to do in these types of situations. Give the hostage takers what they want. I'm really, truly sorry.'

In the back of the plane, Mac laughs out loud as he holds onto Lydia, whose eyes fill with tears of sorrow, knowing what this means.

'No,' she cries out, her eyes fixed upon Stiles who is looking so pale she knows he's about to lose the battle. 'No, you can't do this!'

The Banshee tries to wiggle her way out of the attacker's grip, determined to stop him, at the same time knowing she cannot scream. It could harm everyone on board and give away their secrets.

'My friend is going to die; do you understand that?' she whispers. 'Stiles is going to die if you return this flight to Palm Springs. He's very sick and you're killing him.'

'I don't care,' Mac snarls. 'And you're lying. He can't die, can he? Because he's not human. I saw what that other guy did to him. He was doing something with him, when he grabbed him by the arm. I saw them, those tiny little snakes crawling underneath his skin.'

Lydia holds her breath as her eyes find Stiles', knowing he's getting weaker by the second. The only thing holding him up right now, is the adrenaline rush shooting through his body.

'No, he wasn't, you're mistaken,' she says firmly. 'Scott was trying to help him by giving him support. He's his best friend. We're all Stiles' friends. He's been hurt before, you know. He was hurt during a car explosion. How can he be hurt if he's not human, as you say?'

'I don't care,' Mac hisses. 'Shut up.'

'I won't,' Lydia continues, her eyes glued to Stiles' ill face. 'What are you going to do when we return to Palm Springs? You won't get off the plane then, they'll never let you. Are you going to kill us all when we get there? You haven't thought about that, have you?'

'If needs be, yes,' Mac grunts. 'I'll kill you all, I don't care and I've got nothing to lose. You're all freaks who don't deserve to live anyhow. I know what you are. Beasts, crazies.'

Stiles clutches his abdomen as he gingerly stands, wavering between the seats, determined to protect Lydia. Panting, he finds a good position to stand in, before he moves closer to them. His sling is still off and he stretches his bad hand and arm gently, cautiously moving forward towards Mac and Lydia as his good hand supports him, walking from chair to chair.

'Listen,' he speaks quietly. 'You're absolutely right, Mac. I am a freak, I'm not normal. So, if you want to kill someone, it should be me. She's got nothing to do with this, okay? She's just a girl. You should let her go, she won't help you. She'll just fight against you.'

'Stiles, what are you doing?' Lydia asks shocked. 'Stay back.'

The teenager blinks his eyelids forcefully, shaking off the dizziness that threatens to come and push him into darkness. Why is he so damned tired? He can hardly stay awake. He doesn't understand why he's so damned off.

'I'm dying, Mac. She was right about that,' Stiles continues softly. 'I'll be dead in an hour or so, or even less. But that's okay, I'm fine about it. I'm not afraid of death, you know. It just takes away some of the pain of living, doesn't it?'

Mac looks up, shocked by the teenager's harsh words, reading nothing but truth in them. Silently, the rest of the pack listens to Stiles, as they move closer behind him and on the other side of the aisle, knowing the sick teenager is drawing all of Mac's attention to him.

'You sound like you've been there before,' Mac remarks.

'Oh yeah, I have been,' Stiles speaks quietly, moving closer to Lydia, focusing on her eyes instead of the blood that trickles out of her neck. He reaches forward without touching her, knowing he won't be able to reach her without harming her. Mac holds her arm tight, pushing his fleshy fingers into her skin. Even if she kicks him, he'll have her cut to death in a second. He knows exactly where to strike to kill her in a flash.

'How?' Mac asks hoarsely.

'Oh, you know. I'm a freak, remember? I live in a place where unnatural people live. I'm surrounded by death every day,' Stiles wearily smiles. 'We're used to it. I don't fear it. What about you, Mac? Do you fear it?'

Lydia listens intently to what Stiles is saying, realizing that she hears something in his voice she has never heard before. He means what he says, he's not afraid. He never was, even though at times he freaks out when something goes wrong.

The man looks at Stiles intently. 'Should I fear death?' he asks quietly. 'Because I want to die sometimes. When it all becomes too much, you know?'

'No, it's like falling asleep,' Stiles says gingerly, taking one step closer again. 'It doesn't hurt. You didn't hurt your sister when you killed her. You should know that. She didn't suffer.'

Behind him, the pack quietly moves closer, knowing Mac doesn't even see them. He's completely focused on Stiles' voice, almost hypnotized. Slowly, the teenager reaches Lydia, touching her hand as he stretches his arm and she does too. Mac's grip loosens up a little bit.

'I killed my sister?' Mac looks afraid at Stiles. 'What do you mean? She's just asleep.'

'No, Mac, she's dead,' Lydia speaks, without glancing backwards at Mac's eyes, her voice trembling. 'But that's okay. She's not upset with you. None of us are.'

'Mac, look at me,' Stiles pleads gently. 'Lydia is just a girl. You don't have to hurt her. She doesn't deserve it. She's a good, decent, caring person. Don't do this to her. If you let her go, I swear I'll help you. But please, don't end her like this.'

Lydia stares into Stiles' eyes.

'You have no idea how much she means to me,' Stiles ends quietly. 'I'd rather die than to lose her. Take me then, not her.'

'And what about Lydia?' Mac asks. 'How will she feel when you die?'

'I'll be devastated,' Lydia says quiet, staring at Stiles. 'You have his life in your hands, Mac. Don't trade me for him, just let us go. Please, let us go.'

Mac wavers, for one long moment releasing her arm. Immediately Stiles moves forward as he does, pulling Lydia away with his bad hand, biting on his lip as he causes himself pure, animalistic pain. He pulls hard, until she's away from Mac with one long haul, straight into his own arms.

The move breaks the reverie Mac was in.

Immediately the attacker moves forward, his hand with the pocketknife in it, shooting forward as he aims for Lydia's back at the same time she falls into Stiles' arms. To the horror of the others, Stiles turns Lydia, protecting her with his body as he keeps her from harm's way. Stiles and Lydia fall on the ground, the Banshee screeching as they do.

At the same time, Derek and Scott jump towards Mac, reaching him from the side, taking him out.


	16. The Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for following and commenting on this story.  
> And things are getting worse ...

**Chapter Sixteen: The Cut**

Strong hands pull Mac off the floor, twisting the bloodied knife from his hands as they roughly throw him on a seat.

'I'm not going to another hospital,' he shouts frantically as Scott and Derek hold onto him tight while he stops fighting.

The man is no threat to anyone anymore, all fight lost. More passengers run towards them to help, gathering their bravery to aid the teenagers that overtook the hostage taker. Two strong men stay by him, making sure he won't escape, allowing the group to focus on the two fallen teenagers.

'Stiles, Lydia.' Stilinski, Malia, Liam, Kira and Melissa rush towards the teenagers lying on the plane's floor. Stiles is still on top of Lydia, his face resting on her shoulder. Lydia is lying underneath him, eyes closed, her features facing the ceiling.

The first thing his dad sees, is the trail of blood on Stiles' back. He kneels down by his son, terrified that they acted too late and Stiles paid for his bravery.

 _My son is dead_.

It's all Stilinski can think about. But the cut on Stiles' back isn't deep. The blade slashed his T-shirt and skin, but didn't leave a deep entry wound. Melissa is by Stiles' side at once, her hands prodding his back as she pulls up the T-shirt to look at the wound.

'It's just a small flesh wound, barely a nick,' she sighs in relief, her hand pressed against Stiles' throat who lies quietly with his eyes closed.

'Somebody get this damned plane turned around again,' Derek calls out, shouting at the flight attendants. 'We've got him.'

People applaud in the front of the plane. Mikey is crying as he looks at Stiles.

Melissa looks up relieved, finding a regular, strong heartbeat against her fingertips.

'He's still breathing,' she sighs in relief.

Then Stiles moves, groans and immediately looks up as he frantically stares at Lydia's face below him, horrified that she's not moving underneath him.

'Lydia. Lydia! Lydia, wake up,' he mutters, touching her face.

The girl opens her eyes confused, staring back at Stiles, moaning then as she touches the back of her head, where she hit the ground. Then she remembers why Stiles is on top of her. Instantly she looks him in the eye, cupping his face, showing her clarity of mind.

'Are you okay?' she whispers.

'I'm fine,' he croaks.

Stilinski and Scott help Stiles up and away from Lydia, supporting him as they gently set him on a seat. Lydia is helped by Malia and Kira, who help her to get up. Melissa looks at the back of her head, sighing relieved when she feels a light bump but sees no blood or signs of a concussion.

Stilinski hugs his son relieved, glad to see him okay. Tiredly Stiles leans into him.

'You were damn lucky,' Stilinski says, his voice turning angry. 'What the hell do you think you were doing?'

'Saving Lydia,' Stiles smiles, gently staring at her, causing a twitch in Malia's stomach she has been denying for many months now.

Stiles' girlfriend stands between the human and the Banshee, her eyes focusing on both of them. She has always known there was a special bond between them, has seen it many times before. She loves the two of them, each on their own terms. And she just knows, as she stares at them, that nobody can shatter that bond of theirs.

'You did it,' Malia whispers, kissing Stiles. 'You saved her.'

Then she turns to Lydia. 'You don't know how lucky you are.'

The Coyote moves up and slightly away, to give them the space they need. Stiles instinctively grabs Lydia's hand, holding it tightly as he squeezes into her fingers, forgetting for one moment how crappy he feels.

'They're turning the plane around,' the male flight attendant announces over the intercom, having the passengers applaud again. People move through the plane, patting the group on the back. Mac sits in the back of the plane under the two men guarding him.

He doesn't say a single word as Stiles gingerly moves up and stumbles over to him, aided by Scott who he leans on heavily.

'I promise you, you'll be fine,' Stiles says gently, kneeling by the man's side. 'This is not your fault, Mac.'

'Promise?' Mac asks pleadingly.

'I promise.'

The plane is circling around again as Stiles turns and looks at his dad, standing behind him in the aisle.

'I'm proud of you, son,' he smiles encouragingly.

Stiles nods and smiles weakly, letting go of Scott. His legs slip from under him, dropping the teenager straight into his dad's arms, his face leaning into his shoulder. All strength leaves his body as he closes his eyes at the same time.

'Stiles?' his father cries out as he gently lowers his son on the floor, startled by Stiles' collapse. 'Come on, son. Focus on me. Wake up, Stiles. Melissa!'

Frantically the sheriff calls out to her, shocking everyone in the plane by the sound of his voice. Instantly the nurse is by their side, pushing her fingers against Stiles' throat as she times his heartbeat.

Scott leans in too, grabbing Stiles' wrist as the others look on, staring at Stiles' closed eyes.

'He's in terrible pain,' the wolf says. 'Mom, there must be something we can do.'

'He's waking up,' Melissa says, reassuring them.

'What?' Stiles looks up dazed in his father's arms, hardly recognizing him as the adrenaline rush leaves his body. The sheriff holds his son's head on his lap, eyes filled with tears. Circling around them, the others stare at father and son, unsure of what to do.

'It will be ten minutes before we land,' the flight attendant warns them. 'They're prioritizing our plane now. The ambulance is waiting.'

Scott feels a shiver running down his spine as he watches his best friend struggle emotionally and mentally. As he kneels down, he hears Stiles' heartbeat go fast, too fast for his own good.

'What the hell is happening to my son?' the sheriff asks, staring at Stiles' pale, struggling features. 'Melissa, you have to do something.'

Gently Melissa prods his abdomen, searching for the source of the pain.

'Melissa?' Stiles asks in a tone of voice that sounds slurry and confused. 'Are we there yet?'

'Right here, you'll be okay Stiles,' she promises him as his dad still holds him tight. Suddenly the teenager's thoughts go everywhere. He lets himself slide and leans heavily against his dad. His head falls to the side, panicking everyone. For the second time, he loses consciousness.

'Don't pass out on us, Stiles,' Melissa urges. 'Come on. You can do it, just a little bit more.'

But Stiles' brain can no longer cope with what is going on and he closes his eyes and let things go.


	17. The Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the beautiful comments and compliments!  
> People are asking me if there will be another story following this one. What do you think?

**Chapter Seventeen: The Pain**

'You have to do the surgery and remove the appendix,' Stilinski urges Melissa as she prods Stiles' body, at the same time trying to wake him. 'It's getting worse.'

'I can't,' Melissa retorts. 'What if it kills him? It's only ten minutes, John.'

'Before we land, yes. And then what? It will take at least twenty minutes more to get him off the plane and into a hospital. And what it saves him?' the sheriff says. 'Melissa, this is my _son_ we're talking about. Stiles doesn't have much time left, you said so yourself. The transport to the hospital could kill him. Any second could be fatal right now.'

'It's not his appendix,' Lydia suddenly speaks softly, her large eyes looking at the both of them. 'I don't know what it is, but it's not that. It's something else.'

The Banshee turns to Scott, Derek and Liam for support. 'You smell it, don't you?'

'We do,' Scott replies, glancing at Liam who nods quietly.

'It smells like food gone badly,' Liam says quietly. 'That's what I've been smelling anyhow.'

'That's it,' Derek reacts immediately. 'That's exactly it.'

Scott stares at Stiles, his eyes fixed upon the pale, unconscious features of his best friend. Then Kira steps in quietly. 'He ate something bad, didn't he?'

'But if it's food poisoning, he wouldn't so sick so quickly, would he?' Lydia states. 'His condition deteriorates too fast. His body would be fighting off the food poisoning, make him throw up. But not like this. This is not normal.'

Melissa nods. 'I agree.'

Gently Melissa turns her attention to Stiles', lifting his T-shirt as she avoids the area of the previously collapsed lung inside his chest, touching the tender abdomen instead. Stiles opens his eyes at once as she prods the stomach area, hissing in pain.

'That's so odd,' the nurse mutters, more to herself than anyone else, her experienced hands grazing Stiles' abdomen as she moves down further, watching the boy's eyes slide shut again. He hardly realized he was awake for a second, she knows. His body reacted instinctively.

Gently she shakes him. 'Stiles, focus on my voice. We need to know where it hurts, so we can help you, okay?' Melissa asks. 'You need to help me out here. Can you do that for me?'

Stiles nods, lying in silence with his head in his dad's lap as he focuses on Melissa trying to figure out what's wrong. Her hands touch the appendix area. He doesn't flinch at all.

'Do you feel that?' she asks as she looks at him.

'It doesn't hurt,' Stiles mutters, his eyes darting about as his friends hover over him, fixing them on Lydia and Malia, standing next to each other, holding hands.

'Stiles,' Melissa turns to him. 'Where does it hurt the most?'

The teenager touches the stomach area, far above the appendix.

'Does the pain radiate?'

'Yeah,' he grunts. 'My stomach aches, and the entire area around it.

'Your stomach actually aches?' Melissa asks surprised, trying to catalogue all the symptoms Stiles showed before. The fever, the sweating, the imbalance and difficulty with which he moved. At first she thought it was his foot that put him off, but what if it wasn't? What if something has been brooding, infesting inside his intestines, like the raw fish he ate?

'Do you often feel dizzy?' Melissa inquires troubled.

'Yeah. And I seem to have trouble keeping my balance,' Stiles speaks tiredly, trying to focus. 'It feels like I'm dreaming sometimes. Like I'm walking around without knowing what I'm doing. You guys all fade in and out.'

'Do you see blurry too then?'

He nods and swallows the lump down his throat. 'Like through a haze, you know?'

'The smell is getting worse,' Derek remarks troubled. Scott and Liam confirm this immediately.

'Does your stomach hurt on the outside too? Do you feel sore?' Melissa asks, moving Stiles' T-shirt further up to touch his skin. Heat radiates from him; they all sense it.

'Let me take a look.' Before asking his permission, Melissa touches his abdomen again. Her hands are cold on his warm skin and actually give him goose bumps. When she touches his stomach even the slightest, he winces and cries out in pain.

'Oh god,' Melissa mutters, figuring it out at last, realizing the others' instincts are spot on. 'Tell me exactly what you ate, Stiles. I need to know. It's really important that you tell me.'

'Toast,' Stiles mutters, closing his eyes.

'No, that was this morning,' Lydia corrects sharply, while Melissa shakes him awake again. 'You had that sushi, remember, at the airport? The one that Kira remarked about. Oh god. It's the raw fish, isn't it? That's what gives the smell.'

'But sushi is harmless,' sheriff Stilinski says. 'Stiles has been forcing me to eat it because it's healthy. He hates me munching on fries, so he keeps on buying these packages in the stores all the time. He should be able to handle it.'

'It's true,' Kira confirms. 'I eat it every day, as do millions of others. That can't be it.'

'Sushi?' Melissa asks troubled. 'What sort of fish did you eat, Stiles. Was it salmon? Crab? What was it?'

'I don't know,' Stiles mumbles. 'It came in a pack, prepared and wrapped by that Mexican woman at the counter. I'm so tired.'

Melissa frowns. 'You don't _know_?'

'It was in this tiny box, like all sushi is, and I ate it,' Stiles grunts, pushing Melissa's hands away as they rest on his swollen abdomen. 'That was right before you and dad came along. Kira knows what I ate.'

'Great.' Melissa curses under her breath, closing her worried eyes for a second as she draws her conclusions, hoping she's wrong about all of this.

'What is it?' Lydia asks nervously. 'What are you thinking?'

'I think you do have food poisoning, Stiles,' Melissa says. 'You've got the symptoms for it. How much did you eat of this?'

'Not much, just a few pieces,' Stiles frowns, trying to remember it. 'No wait, I ate it all. I wasn't hungry at first, but felt so weak I knew I had to get something down.'

'It was crap,' Kira says, moving towards them. 'And it wasn't sushi at all, it was sashimi. Oh god, oh no. No, it can't be true.'

Kira's eyes cross paths with Melissa's, both knowing at the exact same time what's going on. Melissa sighs deeply, rubbing her forehead.

'But that can't be,' Kira states, staring at the nurse. 'That can't be it. It just can't be.'

'What is it?' Sheriff Stilinski asks troubled, his hand resting against Stiles' warm face. 'Melissa, Kira, what the hell is going on? What are you talking about?'

Kira looks up frightened, staring at them all.

'There's a certain type of sashimi that is very dangerous to eat, a particular sort of fish that is considered a delicacy. If you eat that fish, not prepared well, it can be fatal. But this is impossible, this fish is a rarity and will not show up in wrapped packages at airports. I don't believe that – '

'Kira, tell us,' Scott urges her, stopping her rambling while the others stare at her. 'What fish is this? What in god's name are you talking about?'

'Stiles might have eaten puffer fish,' Kira mutters under her breath. 'It would explain his condition, but I don't believe it for one second.'

'Puffer -?' Scott stops, not understanding.

'Blowfish,' Lydia whispers, her eyes enlarged. 'A fish, of which certain parts are so poisoned they'll kill you in a matter of minutes. Oh god, no. That's it. Melissa, is that it?'

Sheriff Stilinski looks from Lydia to Melissa to Kira, not understanding all what is going on. Melissa looks up, grabbing the flight attendant's sleeve in panic.

'Get me a damned phone that works so I can call for help. And get this damned plane on the ground _now_. We don't have a minute to spare.


	18. The Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're almost out of the plane! But if that actually works out fine? Hmm.

**Chapter Eighteen: The Fish**

Melissa panics. It doesn't happen a lot, but this time she really starts panicking. She has never seen Stiles or anyone else like this before.

The teenager has passed out again, in the course of a few moments. One moment he's lying in his father's arms, talking to her as he explains his symptoms in a bright and clear voice. The next, he's fully unconscious and non-responsive to any of their calls.

No matter what they try, say or do, he's not reacting. He just lies in his dad's arms, unmoving, his face pale and sweaty as the fever takes over. Melissa rummages through the medical kit, looking for something that can help, but she finds nothing useful.

Then, as the plane starts its descend, preparing for the last five minutes before touchdown, the flight attendant pushes a telephone in Lydia's hand. The Banshee moves away from them, speaking in silence to the man on the other side, explaining exactly what is going on.

Then she moves back to the group and presses the speaker button, shoving the device in Kira's trembling hands, who holds it up to Melissa so she can talk as she examines Stiles.

Stiles vaguely becomes aware of voices as his deep slumber makes way for consciousness. There are persistent voices disturbing his deep sleep, and reluctantly he stirs when his dad's familiar hand touches his face.

'What's going on?' he mutters, blinking his eyelids as he realizes he's still on the plane.

'Glad to see you're back,' Melissa smiles, resisting the urge to hug him tight. 'You passed out on us again. We're nearly there, Stiles. They're landing the plane, you just have to hold on now and it will sort itself out. We're figuring this out, okay?'

Kira types in the number Stilinski is telling her to, her hands shaking as she retries three times.

'Are you thirsty?' Melissa asks tentatively.

He nods wearily. 'Very.'

The nurse puts her hand in Stiles' neck and helps him to sit up, causing the teenager to blink his eyes forcefully to fight off the sudden bout of dizziness. He's getting dehydrated, a typical sign of his poisoned state. She knows that, no matter how much water they give him, it won't be enough. His body is fighting against the sickness and the fever with all of its might.

'Careful,' Malia says, putting a plastic cup with cold water to his mouth as she helps him sit so he can drink. He digests two sips and gratefully lets her help his head down again. He catches eyes of the others, staring quietly and worriedly at him.

He knows for sure now that this is much more serious than anyone had ever expected.

'What's wrong with me, Melissa?' Stiles asks, dreading the answer already, knowing it won't be good.

Melissa looks aside at Stilinski, who now has the phone in his hands, and a line with the outside world. A very familiar voice rings through the phone's speaker. Derek sighs and sits back, forced to remember the last time they spoke to this man.

Melissa had the flight attendants get in touch with him, as he was the last one to see Stiles before he left the hospital in Palm Springs.

'Stiles, this is Doctor Wills,' the voice says. 'How are you feeling, buddy?'

'Like crap,' Stiles mutters.

'That's what Lydia has explained to me,' Wills says carefully. 'Listen, I'm here to guide Melissa through this, so she can figure out exactly what's wrong with you, okay? She'll examine you and I'll ask the questions. We already have a pretty good idea of what is going on and help is on the way. But we need to make sure that we have our diagnosis right, okay? I've spoken to some colleagues in LA and they're sending the right medication over to the airport to help you. It won't be much longer now and then you'll start to feel better, once they've administered the medication you need.'

Stiles licks his dry lips. He feels like he hadn't drunk for days. He nods as Malia holds his hand and Lydia looks at him intently, touching his skin gently. It's dry, because he's losing fluids fast. Scott rubs over his own damp hair, staring distressed at the scene, holding Kira against him. Liam sits back and frowns, very upset and unable to cope with the situation, while Derek stands next to him, staring at Stiles.

'Okay,' Stiles says quietly.

Melissa tells Doctor Wills about Stiles' pulse and general condition, allowing Melissa to touch him again and go over his symptoms. He looks at her when her fingers touch his bare skin, trying to pull away from her.

'Your fingers tingle on my skin,' he remarks, while the flight attendant announces they'll be landing in four minutes. 'I'm not hurting anymore.'

Stiles' voice seems to die away, causing Melissa to shake his shoulder. He blinks his eyelids and looks at her.

'Stay with us, Stiles,' Scott says sharply.

'God, I'm so tired, Scott,' he reacts, staring at his best friend. 'I just need to get some sleep, that's all.'

'No, you can't pass out on us again,' Melissa orders with a raw, strangely emotional voice. 'We need to know what's happening to you, what you're feeling.'

'You can do it, Stiles,' his dad remarks gently, cupping his face. 'Come on, son. For me. For us.'

Wills is quiet for a second. Then he's back on the phone, his voice strong as he goes over a list of possible symptoms.'

'You've been dizzy constantly? Did you feel like you were floating at times?'

'Yeah.'

'What about speech? Did you feel like you couldn't express yourself? Was your speech slurry?'

'It is,' Lydia says immediately.'

'And it's so damned warm,' Stiles whispers. 'I'm so thirsty.'

'Your friends told me you were nauseated since you got on board. Have you felt any soreness or stiffness in your limbs?'

Melissa pales as Wills confirms the diagnosis in silence.

'This is not just a food poisoning, is it?' Stiles asks trembling, staring at his dad. 'Tell me the truth.'

'I'm afraid it's not, Stiles,' the doctor says over the line. 'I've seen this a few times before and Melissa concluded it too. I'm confirming what she thinks.'

Melissa shares a look with the others, standing up as tears well into her eyes. She nods at Stilinski, who hands her the phone so she can speak to Wills in private.

'No.' Stiles grabs her wrist and stops her from leaving. He doesn't have much strength, but it's enough to hold on tight. 'I need to know, Melissa. Don't talk about my condition behind my back. You can fix this, right? You can give me medication, and then I'll be up and about in a flash. Right?'

'I'm afraid it's worse than that, Stiles,' Wills says over the phone. 'Like I said, I've only seen this once before in Japan. I used to work there as a medical doctor before moving to Palm Springs. It happens more there, but usually this doesn't occur in the States.'

'My god,' Kira whispers, knowing what he was going to say. 'So it _is_ puffer fish poisoning, isn't it?'

The doctor confirms over the phone. 'I can't be a hundred percent sure. We would have to run some extra tests for that. But all the symptoms are there, and I'm afraid this is the case. And if that's so, every second counts.'

'That can't be,' Lydia says. 'Isn't it against the law to serve that fish?'

'Wait,' Stiles whispers. 'Poisoning? What does that mean?'

'Blowfish is a delicacy, Stiles. Certain parts of the fish can be harvested and served, and is actually quite good. But other parts are poison and can be life threatening. You ate the poisoned part, somehow.'

Stiles stares at his friends and father in shock. 'Are you saying I might die?'

The doctor doesn't respond at first. The flight attendant tells them they have two more minutes before touchdown.

'Tell me the truth,' Stiles insists weakly. 'Please.'

'It can cause death in less than an hour,' Melissa says, her eyes fixed upon Lydia who cries silently as she closes her eyes.

Scott smells the scent getting worse.

'We have medication on the way right now, Stiles. We guessed, based on Melissa's explanation that you would need it,' Doctor Wills promises. 'As soon as the plane lands, you'll be helped. I promise you you'll be fine. You just hang in there.'

'Touchdown,' the flight attendant calls out, as the plane's wheels hit the concrete slab.

Lydia smiles. 'We made it, Stiles.'

He smiles back weakly, closes his eyes and relaxes his body. The next second, the seizure begins.


	19. The Ambulance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're off the plane!   
> But what now??   
> By the way, thank you for reviewing and posting and commenting all the time, love it!

**Chapter Nineteen: The Ambulance**

It takes all they've got to calm Stiles down. He's semi-unconscious as his body convulses uncontrollably. Melissa orders to lie him down on the plane's floor completely and helps him gently as he fights off their grip, allowing his body to act naturally to the seizing.

Suddenly a last jerk comes and the seizure is over, leaving the group in shock as they stare at Stiles' still form.

The plane taxies as quickly as possible to the gate, where two ambulances are waiting. The first one is a regular vehicle, the second one rushed over with the medication once they realized what Stiles is going through. As soon as the aircraft comes to a full stop, the doors are opened and paramedics rush on board, carrying bags with them.

Police vehicles arrive too, as well as a lot of airport crew, to help the passengers. The sheriff stays with his son, not caring about Mac, who is meekly waiting for his arrest.

'Stiles just had a seizure,' Melissa explains. 'It's pretty bad. There's not much time left.'

She goes on to explain Stiles' symptoms to the doctor who came with the ambulance. Melissa explains his past medical history and all that happened on the plane, telling them to handle him gently due to the injured lung.

Stiles doesn't respond to their presence, doesn't react to his name or treatment being given. He lies deadly still on the ground, with loads of people hovering over him.

The medical crew takes over, administering a drug called Neostigmine in a high dosage to him. The teenager just lets it all happen, before slipping away, unable to hold on for much longer.

'Atropine,' one says to another, injecting Stiles directly before administering a saline-IV. 'He's dehydrated, non-responsive, heartbeat is very irregular, upset stomach area. Pupils are dilated. The diagnosis was stated properly.'

Stiles' body relaxes under the eyes of his friends, finally letting go completely. Melissa bites her lip as she stands back, forcing back the tears in her eyes as she watches Stiles being treated, feeling helpless as she leans into the sheriff's arms, who clings onto her for support too.

The paramedics place an oxygen mask over Stiles' nose and mouth while fluids drip into his body. Terrified the pack stands back, allowing them to help him. Scott bites his lip as he watches it happen, with Derek and Kira by his side. Liam stands right behind them. Malia and Lydia are close to Stiles, watching him closely.

'He's stable,' the doctor says. He stands and looks seriously at the others, while his colleagues strap Stiles onto a gurney. The other passengers are being hauled off board quickly, while the teenager is being prepped for transport.

'I won't lie to you and tell you he's going to be fine,' the doctor explains. 'We don't know that yet, unfortunately. Basically, there is no cure to treat TTX, as this sort of poisoning is called. But, the medication we've given him, is the best way to counteract it.'

'So it is true then?' Kira asks trembling. 'Blowfish poisoning?'

'I'm afraid so. Your friend was very fortunate that he didn't eat that much of it. If he had, he could have been killed within thirty minutes. The problem is that he should have been treated instantly when the first symptoms occurred. The longer you wait, the more dangerous it gets. And he was already very weakened because of his previous accident. The symptoms will increase first, before he gets better. The next hours will be touch and go, I'm afraid. We have to figure out the dosage of the medication once we get him to hospital. This poisoning puts a lot of strain on his organs.'

The doctor looks at them all as Stiles is lifted above the seats, strapped tight onto the gurney, with an IV pushed into him and oxygen feeding his nose and mouth. Lydia shivers, staring at his pale features.

'I don't want to lie to you all. Stiles' life is in danger at this very moment. Seizures and unconsciousness are serious symptoms,' the doctor speaks earnestly.

Melissa nods and bites her lip. 'Could we have done something sooner?'

'No, you couldn't have,' the doctor reassures her. 'Not without this medication.'

Melissa smiles faintly, turning to the sheriff.

'I felt so helpless,' she whispers as her lip trembles. She's tired and upset, and all her medical knowledge could not help in this case. Stilinski grabs her tight, pulling her against him as he gently places a kiss on her forehead.

'You saved him, Melissa,' he states. 'All of you did, for that matter. Now it's no longer in your hands. They'll take over now. Stiles won't give up.'

The group exits the plane after Stiles is being lifted out of it, straight into a waiting ambulance. The group stares at the gurney, remembering the last time this happened.

'Lydia, you go with him,' Malia speaks quietly, pushing her best friend forward. Shocked Lydia turns to see Malia standing there, tears in her eyes.

'No, you should go,' she reacts. 'He's your boyfriend. He'll want you there.'

'No, it's you Lydia,' Malia whispers gently, squeezing her best friend's hand. 'It was always you. You're his emotional tether, remember? If he wants to make it, he'll make it because of you, not me. You know that.'

Quietly shocked, Lydia stares at the group, who looks back at her, nodding in unison. Derek smiles and pushes her forward, helping her into the waiting ambulance. Before Lydia can good and well react, the doors shut behind her and sheriff Stilinski, each sitting on one side of Stiles inside the ambulance, while the medical doctor sits next to his dad, monitoring his patient.

Stilinski smiles weakly as he looks at Lydia.

'They're right,' he says. 'If Stiles makes it, it'll be because of you. You're the reason he always holds on, Lydia, and you don't even know it. You are the one he clings onto, the one he needs.'

'But he has Malia.'

'That's different. You've always had his heart, even with her around,' Stilinski smiles. 'You don't even see the way you look at each other, do you? You're his soulmate, Lydia.'

Lydia swallows away the lump in her throat as she grasps Stiles' hand and squeezes it tight, admitting to herself at long last that everyone else is right. She tried to ignore her feelings, realizing in the end that Stiles has been the one ever since he told her how smart she was. Even when she thought it was Jackson she loved, she has always known that her former boyfriend never really had her heart. If she doesn't admit to that before one of them does, she'll never forgive herself.

Stiles opens his eyes, struggling with the oxygen mask over his face as he finds her sitting next to him. He pulls the mask off, despite his dad's insistence to keep it on.

'Hey Stiles,' Lydia whispers, grasping his fingers tight as she smiles with tears in her eyes.

'Hey.' He faces her, his voice strained and tired, as his dad watches them intently. 'Why are you crying?'

'Because you're so sick, Stiles,' she whispers, touching his forehead, shocked by the heat radiating from him.

'I'm dying, aren't I?' he says after a brief moment, capturing the memento. He's no longer on the plane, but inside an ambulance with loud sirens, rushing through the streets of LA.

'No, you are not,' Lydia says determinedly. 'You've got the right medication administered and they're taking you to hospital. You'll be fine.'

Stiles smiles. 'You're a bad liar, Lydia. It's not over yet, is it? I'm still in trouble.'

'No,' Lydia honestly shakes her head, as his dad moves closer and smiles encouragingly at his son, telling the truth with his worried eyes.

'You're a fighter, Stiles,' the sheriff says. 'You'll be fine, son. We won't let you go.'

'Typical me, huh?' Stiles mutters. 'I overcame my fears and took that plane, and wound up getting killed anyhow.'

'Stiles,' his dad responds to his remark, pushing back his fears as Stiles speaks up his mind. 'This flight resembled our lives somehow. It's always been a rough ride, shaky around the edges but still strong going. But consider this, Stiles. You get banged up all the time, but you've never had blowfish poisoning before. That's a new one for the books, right?'

'Right dad,' Stiles smiles. 'Who needs a regular life, right?'

'That's my boy,' the sheriff grins. 'Live dangerously, son. Not that I want you to do redo this, but at least you won't complain next time I dig into curly fries and complain about the healthy crap you serve me.'

Stiles smiles. 'I'll have Lydia haunt you every single day, dad, if you do that.'

'You'll be the one haunting me,' the sheriff remarks, his smile fading.

'I don't know, dad,' Stiles whispers, his voice fading away.

'Hey, stop talking like that, Stiles,' Lydia says sharply, watching Stiles' eyes droop again. Roughly she shakes him back to awareness. 'Stay with us, come on.'

The doctor checks his vitals, concerned over Stiles' passive reactions and intense words.

'Lydia.' Stiles touches her face, moving his fingers to rest on her mouth, touching her lips gently as the ambulance speeds through the streets of LA, heading for its ER. 'I have to tell you something.'

She doesn't respond as she feels his fingertips on her lips, relishing the feeling of being touched by him, as her heart jumps. Why didn't she admit to it before? She hid it, for so long, didn't want to ruin it between them.

'You're so beautiful,' Stiles whispers. 'All I ever wanted for you, was to be happy. That's all. No matter who it was that you needed.'

'You're not dying, Stiles,' Lydia speaks persistent. 'So don't talk like that. After you get through this, I'm still going to kick your ass for scaring the shit out of us again. And I'll be by your side, to see you recover.'

Stiles lifts his shoulders slightly, his voice slurring slightly, 'Look who's talking.'

'Hey, I admit to being a bad patient who tends to run around naked, but you are much worse. Plus, you have the knack of getting yourself into trouble. This flight was cursed,' Lydia quips.

Stiles can't help but laugh. A raw sound escapes his throat. He coughs, causing her to stare worried at the doctor, who moves the mask back in place. It seems to take a lot of effort for him to get out of that coughing fit. His damaged lung suffers.

'Easy does it,' the doctor says, 'we're nearly there.'

The coughing fit passes and Stiles sighs deeply, speaking under his mask as he looks as his dad.

'I'm a weak puppy, aren't I, dad?'

'No, you're not. You're holding on,' his father says. 'Your body is fighting the poison; they'll take good care of you at the hospital once we get there. You'll pull through.'

'The medication should kick in soon,' the doctor says quietly. 'But it seems to take a while. His body is very weak.'

Stiles looks at Lydia frightened, his voice struggling to find the surface. 'I'm going to die in such a stupid way. I never thought it would end like this, after all that happened.'

'Stiles, don't say that,' she insists, grasping his fingers so tight it hurts them both. He doesn't mind; it keeps him vivid.

'Don't lie to me, Lydia,' he smiles. 'You feel it too. We both know that I am. It's over, and it's so goddamn useless.'

'We're nearly there, Stiles,' Lydia whispers desperately. 'You just need to heal now, okay? Get stronger, heal. But don't talk like that, you hear? Don't give up now.'

Stiles' fingers touch Lydia's face for the second time, carefully rubbing off the tears that stream down her cheeks. She doesn't even know she's crying. She grasps his hand and keeps it against her face as the ambulance enters the road leading to the ER.

'You have to be okay,' she whispers. 'Come on, Stiles.'

Frantically his dad looks at the doctor. 'Why isn't that medication working? He should be recovering right now. Why is he getting weaker?'

'I don't know,' the doctor says. 'We have to figure out the right dosage of this medication. We can't give too much or it'll kill him. But we need to run blood tests for that.'

'It hurts, doesn't it,' Stiles whispers hoarsely to Lydia, 'not to be able to do anything. I know what it's like, Lydia. When I saw you after the bite, when Peter. I was so scared – '

Stiles stops, caught in a coughing fit, breathing deep into the mask. Then he looks at her again with a gaze she has never seen before, frightening her. He's okay with slipping away, has accepted his fate.

'No.' She shakes her head and puts her fingers on Stiles' lips. 'I won't have you do this to me. You can't leave me like this, Stiles. I don't want to lose you.'

He smiles, and she smiles back, moving closer as he pulls off the mask again.

'Lydia,' he whispers hoarsely.

'Yes?'

'Can I kiss you?'

She stares at him startled, her eyes gazing at his dad who watches. He just nods as the ambulance enters the ER-bay, looking away to give them space.

'Yeah, you can,' Lydia whispers.

Gently Stiles pulls Lydia's face closer to his, and their lips touch for the second time in their lifetime. His hand rests in her neck, underneath her hair he loves so much, but his grip isn't strong. He responds to her kiss at first, his lips on hers. Gentle, persistent. Until he lets go first.

Then there's no more reaction. Lydia pulls back, only to see that Stiles is unresponsive to her touch, his eyes closed, his face slightly tilted to the side. There's a change in him. This isn't merely unconsciousness anymore. It goes beyond that, into the darkness where no one can reach him.

Lydia stares at him in shock and then she realizes what is happening. She lost him, just like that. Just when she knew that he was always what she had been searching for.

'No,' Lydia mutters. 'No!'

The doctor rises up to feel his pulse. It is still there but very, very faint. He moves closer as the ambulance stops and the doors open, allowing more people to help. The sheriff cries his son's name, shocked that they've lost him.

'Don't do this to me, Stiles,' Lydia cries out, pulled back by his dad who pushes her gently to the side, allowing the medics to help.

Stiles' heart stops beating as medical staff pull the gurney out of the ambulance. A group of four people rush him inside the ER, while people manually try to resuscitate him on the way over. Hands are on his chest, the oxygen mask is removed and replaced by a mouth over his breathing air into him, while pads are being attached to his chest to jumpstart his heart.

Inside, the medical team starts working on him. A small cubicle is filled with people. Desperation grabs Lydia as the sheriff brings her inside, both of them staring at the medical crew trying to save Stiles' life.

On the parking lot, two police cars stop at the ER, their friends pouring out and rushing inside, finding Lydia and Stilinski staring in shock at Stiles' still body.

'Atropine administered. IV pushing in, more fluids running,' Lydia hears. 'He's severely dehydrated. Administer a heavier dose of Neostigmine now. Get that bloodwork done, we need to figure out how much he's digested. Watch the chest, he's had a punctured lung ten days ago.'

Melissa holds onto Stilinski, while Scott reaches for Lydia. All stare at the medical team working on Stiles, praying that it won't be too late.

From a distance Stiles listens almost in awe to words spoken by unknown people, wondering how in the world they can work so efficiently. They think he's unconscious, but he isn't anymore. He listens to their voices and is able to understand them.

He has to open his eyes and tell them that he is awake. Somehow though he just doesn't seem to manage to do that. So he decides to just let it go.


	20. The End?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the end of this story! 
> 
> I want to thank you all for the endless support, following it and leaving comments. If you liked it, please leave a comment, much appreciated!
> 
> I am considering a third story in the series. what do you think? Let me know!
> 
>  

 

**Chapter Twenty: The End**

'Stiles?'

A very familiar voice makes the teenager believe that he has dreamt the whole thing. That he is in bed at home, in Beacon Hills. That he hasn't been hurting at all, that he is perfectly okay.

Hands touch his face, a female voice speaks to him, whispering his name in his ear. It's Lydia. He would recognize her voice from millions.

For a second, Stiles thinks she's lying in bed with him, and that they have somehow become lovers. He had dreamt that once before, and then it had turned out to be a total nightmare. She was part of the nogitsune's foul play.

Reluctantly Stiles fights back against the darkness, as if waking up from a bad dream. His entire body feels numb and sore, as if he has fought a battle. He sighs lightly and turns his head towards her voice, finally opening his eyes.

Then he realizes that Lydia isn't in his bed at all. And he isn't at home, in his own bedroom. He _is_ in a bed, in a large semi-guarded white room, with beeping machines and sounds surrounding him. He sees people move behind the glass doors, realizing he's in another hospital, another ICU. This room is big, bright and large.

Lydia stands by his bed, and she's not the only one. Behind her, the group of friends and family rises at once when they realize he's awake and clearheaded. Again they have taken over an ICU, not caring that they're not supposed to be staying here.

'Hey,' he slurs, staring at them all. 'What's up?'

His dad rushes to his bed and laughs relieved, hugging his son, amazed at the alertness in Stiles' eyes. Melissa stands besides the sheriff, her hand lingering on his back, something Stiles spots immediately. He smiles, despite everything.

'You kept your promise,' he smiles at her and she nods, winking as she grabs his hand.

Stiles' voice sounds almost normal again, but raw, as if he has just run a race and is still recovering. And it's clear to them all, he's fully alert and well-aware of what happened. No memory-loss, no brain damage and definitely no lasting effects.

Sighs of relief fill the room, all of them happy that he's awake and has pulled through.

Lydia reaches for a cup filled with ice chips, feeding some into his mouth with a spoon. Stiles tries to sit up, only to get the machines beep noisily as their cables entertwine with his moves. He's bound to this bed with tubes and wires covering his chest. Damn, he thinks, it wasn't a dream. It was very real.

Eating Japanese food has poisoned him from the inside out, and his broken toes ache underneath the sheets that cover him. His foot is in a walking cast. They set his toes while he was completely out of it, as he broke the bones in each of them.

'We can never leave you alone, can we?' his dad smiles. 'Even having a quick, healthy bite at the airport, nearly killed you. I told you that sushi ain't good for ya. You should have gotten a burger.'

'How long was I out?' Stiles rasps.

'A day,' Scott says. 'It was touch and go for a long time. You had us quite worried.'

'And now?' he asks frightened, staring at Melissa, knowing she'll speak the truth.

'Pretty good, actually,' she reassures him. 'You've had a radical medical treatment that has counteracted the poisoning. Once they had the bloodwork done, they worked out a plan that worked almost immediately. You were severely hydrated, common side effect of the poisoning. You'll need to stay here for a few days to get your strength back up. But don't worry, Stiles. You're on the way to a quick recovery now. As long as you stay in this bed, that is.'

Melissa stops for a moment, her eyes filling with tears suddenly as John Stilinski grabs her tight.

'We have to tell you, Stiles,' his dad says, 'that your heart stopped beating for a while. Your cardiovascular system went through hell, apparently. And your liver has suffered, as well as your kidneys. But the treatment's working really well. You won't have any lasting effects, they said.'

Stiles look at their stressed and exhausted faces, wondering what hell they must have gone through to get him back. He can tell by their gazes it was a rough ride.

He looks at them all.

'I'm sorry you had to go through this,' he whispers. 'It was so stupid, wasn't it?'

Derek smiles, speaking for them all as his grey eyes soften.

'We weren't the poisoned ones, Stiles. You'll be fine soon and pester us all again with witty remarks and sarcastic snares.'

'Looking forward to it,' Stiles shrugs with a smile. Then he looks up startled.

'Oh god, what about the other people who ate in that place? Or was I the only one?'

His dad frowns, reluctant to tell his son the whole story, but realizing that he must. Stiles will find out sooner or later.

'It's pretty bad, son. It was all over the news too. Twelve people became very ill, of which six died and some are still in the ICU, like you. The food stall has been closed immediately once we contacted them, but it was too late. They didn't know they were serving blowfish, apparently. It was a mix-up by their supplier who didn't bother to double-check what he was selling. He had a special order with him for a Japanese family living in Palm Springs, and he messed up. The wrong transport went to the food stall, which wound up poisoning people. They're still investigating. Several people wound up on planes like you, unfortunately not so lucky as you.'

'What about that guy, Mac?' Stiles asks, sucking on ice chips as he digest the truth, realizing how lucky he was.

'He's been placed under medical care,' Malia says. 'He's on medication again and has been sent to a psychiatric ward.'

'The airline has decided not to press charges after I spoke to them,' Stiles' dad says. 'You wanted to help that guy, so I did it for you. Unfortunately, he'll never get out again, not after what he did to his sister and almost to Lydia.'

'That's good,' Stiles says relieved, smiling at Lydia as he remembers the poor guy. He feels sorry for him.

'The most important thing is that it's over and you'll be fine,' Malia says, touching Stiles' forehead. 'You'll be out of here in a few days and then we can all head home at last.'

Stiles sucks on another ice chip and groans, even though he starts feeling better by the minute. 'It feels like I've been doing a marathon. Will I keep on feeling this tired?' he asks Melissa.

'For a while, yes. But you should be okay in a couple of days. Besides, now you can rest your foot properly,' she quips.

'Come on you lot,' Melissa says, pushing the group out. 'He needs to rest, and so do you.'

'You're not going to spend another day at this hospital, you hear?' Stiles calls after his dad. 'Get them home, dad. Or at least in some decent hotels.'

'Don't worry about that, Stiles,' the sheriff grins, holding his hand against the small of Melissa's back as he escorts the group out.

Stiles grins, putting one weak thumb up in the air as he realizes there might be hope for his dad and Melissa after all. Scott catches his gaze, winking, as he sees it too.

Lydia and Malia stay behind as the others leave, each taking one side of Stiles' bed.

He looks shyly at both, remembering all too well the kiss he shared with the strawberry blonde in the ambulance, even though part of him is terrified that part of it was a dream. He is stuck between a rock and a hard place, not knowing what do to.

Nervously he looks at Malia and then at Lydia, realizing all too well he'll never be able to choose.

'Don't look so frightened,' Malia smiles suddenly, grabbing his hand. 'Lydia told me about the kiss.'

'She did?' he startles, shocked Lydia would share this.

'Yeah,' Malia smiles. 'And I'm okay, Stiles, I'm fine with it. I told you that before. I know what it is between the two of you, that which we don't share. I like you Stiles, I like you a lot. And I love you. And I know you love me. And I know you love her too and will never be able to choose between us. So Lydia and I talked about it, and we came to an agreement.'

'About me?' Stiles asks surprised.

'Oh yeah,' they both smile. Malia grins. 'We have come to a decision, to make it easier for you.'

Stiles holds his breath. 'I love you, Malia. But I love Lydia too. You know I can't stop that.'

Malia smiles. 'Now that's what they call a luxury problem.'

Lydia moves forward, grasping Stiles' hand tight. 'Malia is absolutely right. Besides, who says you get to decide all by yourself?'

Stiles is lost for words for once.

'So we are going to fix that problem for you,' Lydia ends.

Stiles stares from Malia to Lydia, and back again, almost too terrified to ask what they've come up with. Malia leans forward and kisses him softly, so gently as she's never done before. He closes his eyes, realizing it's a goodbye kiss. Or is it? She pulls back and smiles.

Then Lydia moves forward, cupping his face between both hands, as their lips touch once more. Oh god, this is just as gentle as Malia's.

'So,' Lydia says, 'this is what we've decided.'

The End

(or not?)


End file.
